


Enlightenments

by Sparky_Lurkdragon



Series: Immortal Wander [1]
Category: ICO (Video Game), Shadow of the Colossus, Team ICO Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Compelling Voice, Drowning, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Filicide, Good Dormin, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Wander (Shadow of the Colossus), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, Infertility, Intrusive Thoughts, Isolation, Mentions of hunting, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Mono is the Queen, Nausea, Neutral Dormin, Nightmares, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Psychotropic Drugs, Sexual Abuse, Shadow of the Colossus Remake Spoilers, Shadow of the Colossus as ICO Prequel, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Friendshipping, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, original character death, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparky_Lurkdragon/pseuds/Sparky_Lurkdragon
Summary: The one known as Dormin was bound by the power of the Ancient Sword. The wanderer with no name was bound by the power of his wife's voice.The two prisoners have a long, long time to get used to one another.***Enlightenmentsis my long answer to the question of howShadow of the Colossusleads intoICO, focused primarily on Wander and Dormin.
Relationships: Dormin & Wander (Shadow of the Colossus), Mono/Wander (Shadow of the Colossus), The Queen (ICO)/Wander (Shadow of the Colossus)
Series: Immortal Wander [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824127
Comments: 16
Kudos: 12
Collections: Immortal Wander Collection





	1. Prisoners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. Here it is at last: the fic that explores my complicated headcanon about how _Shadow of the Colossus_ eventually led to _ICO_ and what happened in the immediate aftermath of _ICO's_ ending because of it. The fact that it has taken the form of a Wander & Dormin hurt/comfort angst with a happy ending slow burn friendshipping fic is not what I expected, but I have come to accept this. As they say, if you want something _that_ specific, you just have to write it yourself.
> 
> In seriousness, please take a good long gander at that list of content warnings before continuing. Reader discretion is strongly advised. There is additional information on this matter in the endnotes for the first chapter that I recommend looking over, especially if you have any major squicks or triggers.
> 
> Despite the listing as part of a series, this is fairly self-contained and can be read independently of the others. _Enlightenments _is more or less the "main event" story in the series, anyway.__
> 
> Muses of copyright, hear my invocation: _ICO_ and _Shadow of the Colossus_ are owned by Sony and were directed by Fumito Ueda. I'm just borrowing them for a little.  
> 

Though it was weak in places, cracked in others, and bound Them more loosely than the old, Dormin knew the new seal would hold for eons. They were free to speak past it, yes, no longer bound to vague circumlocutions around the keys to Their shackles. Yes, they beheld Their Own lands in so much greater clarity than before. And yes, They knew that eventually They could bring the seal down from within.

But in the meantime, though Their power could influence the world again, anything that slipped out of the cracks in the seal was as out of Their control as a mortal's exhaled breath. If the metaphor held, the way They tested the weaknesses in the seal meant They breathed harder from the exertion. More of Their power escaped the more They struggled to work Themself free.

Where that loose power settled, it lit markers in the darkness beyond Their Own lands. They glowed only faintly, and unless They strained, Dormin could rarely make much out from them. They never lasted long, not on a mortal's scale and certainly not on a god's. But there was one whose mark shined, and if he had not lived very long for a god, he had lived a very long time for a mortal. He rarely spoke to Them. And They rarely thought of him.

_Dormin._

They rarely thought of him, except when he prayed, which he did not often do.

_Dormin..._

There was very little that would make him contact Them.

_Dormin!_

However, when he decided the moment was right, it seemed it was impossible to avoid him. " _Wanderer._ "

A flurry of emotions coalesced into the thought, _Where is the next one, Dormin? Where is he?_

The agitation in his mood and the strangeness of the request made Them stop picking at the seal to focus on him instead of offhandedly answering. They could see through his mark that he was in a boat, drifting with the paddles put away in its hull while he prayed. His recent memories told Them he was just leaving the Castle in the Mist; They had been vaguely aware of him arriving there with one of the smaller glows of power, which Dormin could no longer sense.

" _He is yet young, wanderer._ "

_I know that. Do you think I don't? Where, Dormin. Tell me where he is._

If They had been corporeal, perhaps They would have shrugged. Usually he waited until the ones marked by Their power were older, but whatever he was planning, it would not affect Them to tell him early. Without words they expressed They were concentrating, and the wanderer had enough sense to let Them. Finding the second-eldest of the mortals marked by Their power, They heard enough of his thoughts to find the name of his village, which they told the wanderer.

He broke off contact, leaving Dormin to Their seal once again. A whim passed through Their mind and was dismissed: reaching out to him when he was that agitated would serve no purpose. Mortal games were for mortals. They were dimly aware of his meeting the child They had pointed out, dimly aware of how they travelled together, how his heart remained closed off to Their sight.

It had not been terribly long, not on his time scale and certainly not on Theirs, when, one day, Dormin saw that the smaller glow was extinguished. They paid it little heed at first - the ones with smaller marks never did last long - but a delayed realisation gave Them pause. The child had not been taken to the Castle in the Mist. 

Dormin drew back from pushing on Their seal and looked closer. The one with the glowing mark was on the move. He remained closed off to Their senses, but They saw that he was meeting the ones with smaller marks, and They saw that where he met them the glow of their marks winked out.

They tried to look more closely, tried to see what was happening through either the shine of the wanderer's mark or by reading his thoughts. But still his heart was closed, and They could only sense his rage and anguish, directed at Them, directed at himself, at those who had cursed his wife, at all of the world. There was a sudden, dazzling flash one day, and as Their sight recovered They beheld that the glow of his mark had halved. Still Dormin could not see what was happening, could only sense his pain and humiliation and incandescent, helpless anger.

Far away, a shift caught Their attention, and Dormin became aware that the Queen of the Castle in the Mist was stirring. Her power was Dormin's and it was not: it was grafted onto her with her husband's blood and twisted around her with dizzying colours mortals had no words for. Dormin watched, though not too directly, as the Queen travelled through magic places, seeing her eventually reach the one whose mark shined.

And Dormin sensed his terror.

* * *

They were not sure what to think as the boat approached Their land a few weeks later.

The two within resolved to Their senses from a writhing mass of nameless colours and a diminished but still bright shine to a pale, cold woman and a young-looking, one-horned man. She sat primly in the back of the boat; he rowed with tireless strength and no outward expression whatsoever. Dormin could not tell what either was thinking in any detail.

Her power was Dormin's, but it was not. The way Dormin's corrupted power moved around and through her made it nearly impossible for Them to look into her soul and see her thoughts: trying made Them feel as close as a deity could get to nauseated. But his power, _his_ power _was_ Dormin. He still carried some of Their soul within his frail mortal body, and for Dormin to feel his emotions and see his thoughts should have been nearly as effortless as feeling and thinking Their Own.

It should have been and it would have been, save for his own sort of power. It had seen him give up his name, it had seen him slay the Colossi, it had kept him struggling doggedly onward for the last three centuries. As it was, he could not hide everything from Them, especially not as the boat reached the western cape and ran aground, but still Dormin could only feel the edges of his tension and fear. If he set his mind to not allowing Dormin to see within him, They could not.

Presently, she spoke. "Here we are." She shook her head. "I still don't understand what came over you."

He said nothing.

"This way you will be safe," she continued, voice gentle. She slowly swept her hand out in an arc, the gesture spreading unpleasant tracers across Dormin's vision. "Our god will protect you, Sabae. From yourself and from the rest of the world. You must stay _here_ , in Dormin's land."

The oar was still in his hands, and Dormin saw him clench his grip minutely, drawing a sharp breath through his nose. Dormin was a god of death, and They knew the name had no power over him; it was long-dead, slain centuries before by the god of his birthplace. But the command did, like all her commands.

She sat gazing at him for some time, then sighed. "I have to go back to the family. Get out of the boat."

Immediately did he obey, dropping the oar and hopping to the sand. He turned to look up at her, expression impassive; she smiled at him, so gently.

"I will come visit, don't worry." His spine tensed, but he did not and could not muster any other response. "I don't think I will be able to bring new family members for you to meet, but I will let you know about them."

At her will, the boat pushed off back into the sea. He watched her fade into the mist, quiet, without expression, but tense, tensing further, his will pushing against a barrier until she was far enough away and all at once he had turned on his heels and was scrambling across the beach to charge up the path to the cliff above. Even for him, the speed was impressive, and he barely paused for breath at the top: he ran onward through the canyon and shot up the cliffs that marked the southwestern edge of Dormin's land with nearly the speed and skill of a gecko.

His one remaining horn and what it symbolised let Dormin feel the edges of nausea and a headache beginning as he ascended, let Them feel how his limbs seemed to gain weight. It did not take a deity's connection to a mortal to hear how he retched dryly and groaned. It took only light to see how he slowed down, how he squinted and ground his teeth. He pressed himself forward all the same, higher, higher, shaking, gagging, reactions dulled from the pain he was in.

He did not see the weak stone, and when it gave all his frantic scrabbling could not stop the fall. He landed with all of his weight on his neck.

Dormin waited.

His power was Theirs, was Them, true. But it was as much out of Their control as any escaped piece that caused strength and endurance and horns. The effect had been intended as temporary. When the holy warriors had forced Them into manifesting through him, even that had been intended as temporary. But no. The way the second seal had been laid down, and the way Dormin had slipped him back out of it, had unintentionally created something neither mortal nor divine. This in-between state caused odd effects.

Mortals could not live without their bodies. And his soul was still half mortal. And Dormin was a god of life.

Their wild power set his broken neck, regrew his severed horn, started his heart again. It healed any number of new scrapes and old bruises. His body, save for the horns and strength he carried with the piece of Dormin's soul twined with his own, was restored to as it had been when he had first come to Dormin's land as a young man desperate to right a wrong. When his breathing returned in quick, short gasps, Dormin made Their presence known.

" _Wanderer._ "

He sat bolt upright, teeth clenched against the blood draining from his head, and spat, "Leave me _alone._ "

While it was not the exact reaction They had expected, it did not particularly surprise Them, either. " _Wanderer-_ "

"Leave me alone, damn you!" He stood and stumbled, one hand to his forehead, the other gripping the cliff face. "Go away!"

" _Thou surely knowest We cannot. Not in Our Own lands and not with thy horn-_ "

They were cut off by a wordless, harsh yell, and that _did_ surprise Them. "Damn you and damn these horns! Leave me alone!" 

" _Wanderer._ "

He laughed, mocking the stern note in Their voices as he staggered along the cliff face, walking the dizzy spell off. "And just what are _you_ going to do about it, you rancid, toothless old thing?" He dropped down in the shade of a cliff and yelled at the sky, " _Kill me?!_ "

His voice echoed up and down the canyon: _kill me?! kill me! kill me. kill me..._

With each echo, his snarl fell further and further. As his voice faded, he curled his knees to his chest and shut his eyes.

Dormin said nothing more, moving Their attention away from him and back to the seal. He was trapped, They were trapped, and now they shared the same prison.

They ignored each other until some hours later, when Dormin became aware that he was dreaming. As he slept sitting against the cliff face, sheltering from the eternal sun of Dormin's land under an outcropping, the bars around his heart fell away as surely as his every muscle went slack. Without his stubborn will to prevent it, his horns and his presence in Their land made it impossible for Them to shut out his thoughts.

He was dreaming of ruins. But though the building was falling apart, it was shelter, and he was happy, for his wife was with him. They talked of inconsequential things, harmless things, the conversation filling him with the quiet joy of being alive, at having the one he loved alive with him. 

But he coughed, put a hand to his chest, and looked down to see it bleeding. He looked up, and his wife was still there, but changed: she was paler than death, cloaked in shadows, and still speaking tenderly. He recoiled back, but she said, "I'm here. Stay still, it's all right."

She crawled forward, on top of him, gentle hand cold on his face. Down his wounded chest. Lower-

He awakened kicking and thrashing. Dormin watched him stand before he should have, watched as he gasped for panicked air with an unsteady hand on the cliff face. They felt keenly his sharp terror that settled quickly enough into dread. He did not acknowledge Them as he straightened and began to walk along the canyon, thought better of it and stepped the other way, thought better of _that_ and returned to his original path. He stopped, shifting his weight back and forth, away from the sea and the Castle beyond, towards it, away.

More softly than before, Dormin said, " _Wanderer._ "

More quietly and more firmly than before, he said, "Leave me alone." The locks around his heart clicked shut again as he walked along the canyon, the edges of his thoughts telling Dormin he needed food and was foraging, hunting if an opportunity presented itself. Perhaps it would take his mind off the dream.

The second time he tried to sleep, he had a similar dream. The details were different, but the emotions were the same. The third time, the tenth time, the thirtieth time, Dormin saw that he slept poorly yet pushed himself to exhaustion during his waking hours, and They never saw him lay down during the entire first month of his imprisonment, for he preferred to sleep propped up with his back to trees and rock faces, but never to the stone of Their shrines. 

The forty-first time he wore himself out and fell asleep, he dreamed of something different. He sat on a grassy hill, facing west and watching the sun sink slowly down past the horizon, the clouds lit orange and the sky a pleasant red. On either side of him was one figure Dormin recognised and another They did not, though They had some guesses. To his right was a middle-aged man with a pair of horns much like his own; to his left was an old woman free of corrupted power.

As for the dreamer himself, he could see his own wrinkled hands and knew his hair had greyed. He was old and he looked it. The three said little, nothing he would remember awake, no orders he was bound to, and the sunset never quite ended by the time he awakened under a tree. He stared up at its branches, at the sun above, motionless for several minutes.

His breath hitched. He curled his head to his knees and wept, nails digging into his legs, the joy of the dream too much to bear with its hope too far out of his reach.

Dormin reached out, made Their presence known. " _Wanderer..._ "

"Go away," he sobbed. "Leave- leave - go away. Go _away._ "

They could not, and he knew it, but They said nothing more. He eventually regained his composure and stood, walking into another eternal day, and into another, and another, and They left him alone as he wished, letting him wander Their lands through months and seasons and years. But every time he relaxed into sleep, They could not look away.

Even so, They were not a god of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some further notes on the content:
> 
>   * Themes of spousal abuse, rape due to mind control, being in a situation you know is bad and being unable to get out of it, isolation, survivor's guilt, nightmares, and child death by ritual murder and by filicide permeate the whole thing, so please take special care if any of these topics are an issue for you. 
>   * I think the "Wander & Dormin" tag should give it away, but just in case, lots of reconciling-with-religion stuff here, as well, in the context of a polytheist with a patron deity who he has an initially antagonistic relationship with. 
>   * The best way I can think of to describe the incest is "fantasy incest". It's there and may be triggering to those with a sensitivity to it, but it's a situation that could only come up in a story with magic and in that regard is pretty divorced from reality. Think about the implications of a sorceress stealing her daughters' bodies to extend her life while still having the same husband through the ages, and you've got the idea. 
>   * I've done my best to tag for everything that comes up, but given this fic has long been nicknamed things like _That Sad Team ICO Fic_ and _Content Warnings: The Fanfic_ , I might have missed a few things that get brought up once or twice as glancing mentions. I apologise in advance if I did, and I'm happy to work with good-faith requests for updated tags or to check ahead for something that might be a squick or trigger for you. 
>   * I am not happy to work with bad-faith 'how dare you write about this' comments. 
>   * I'd be very happy to see your guessing hats on as you read, if you'd like to comment. As usual, I'm also happy to have readers point out typos so I can fix them, and for this fic that means I'm happy to take nitpicking of Dormin's archaic dialect. 
>   * Have a drink of water and take care of yourself. 
> 



	2. Escapee

In the fourth year of the lone mortal's imprisonment, Dormin saw a flicker in the darkness beyond Their lands. Having seen it, They reached out to him as he was fletching a set of arrows, disregarding the edges of his irritation at knowing he had Their attention and disregarding how he did not look up. " _Wanderer,_ " They said, " _One who beareth our mark is being taken to the Castle._ "

He snapped his head up, gaze drawn south and west. His shoulders sank, the half-finished arrow loose in his hands, and he sighed deeply, closing his eyes. Dormin watched as he packed his things into quiver, bow-holster, and rucksack, watched as he set out for the cape that faced the Castle in the Mist, where standing upon the cliffside his mortal eyes would be just barely able to see it in the distance. It would take him a half-day's walk to get there.

" _Thine own eyes would perceive him not._ "

"Choke on your tongue," he snarled. They were taken enough back that They kept silent, watching his purposeful, tireless stride.

They kept silent and left him to his smoldering thoughts for the better part of an hour, watching the dim light of the boy's horns across the sea. It had been two eternities since They had seen the land there, but knowing what They did through the wanderer's knowledge, they surmised he was being taken from the mainland in a small boat. They saw him arrive in about the right position to be at the Castle itself.

And They saw...

They pressed up against the seal, focusing on the small ember of the boy's mark. They could not accurately guess how, but Their senses did not lie to Them. _"Perhaps thine eyes shall indeed perceive him._ "

The wanderer did not slow, but he frowned, looking toward the Shrine of Worship.

" _The light of his horns approacheth Our shores._ "

As if a horse spurred, he broke into a run for the cape.

* * *

Dormin watched as the boat came into Their field of view, the little soul within resolving to Their senses. He was young, as all save one of the marked were, shackles of iron restricting his motion but not enough to keep him from rowing, first on one side of the boat, then the other. The current aided his flagging strength, drawing the boat onto the beach and grounding it. Despite his weariness, the boy rested only briefly before hauling himself to the sand, where he leaned on the boat to catch his breath, looking in awe at the cliffs above him. Awe at the natural beauty, and awe at being free.

He moved on from the boat shortly, walking along the beach in search of shelter or further routes of escape. He had not long left it behind when a horned shadow cast itself over him, pinning him where he stood with a fear of being recaptured. From the one above, Dormin felt helpless sorrow and wretched determination. He watched the boy backing away from the cliff, eyes fixed on him, and called down, "Follow me. There's a path up."

The boy stopped, hesitating. Like all of the marked children, he had little reason to trust his elders. But he had seen the shining horns, though Dormin knew that to his mortal eyes they looked as inert as a bull's. He gripped at his shackles, watching the adult move along the cliff, watched him pause and look back. When the one above began walking again, he followed, letting himself be led to the ramp. He ascended it, getting a new wind from the hope of some kind of fellowship, eventually coming face to face with the land's one mortal occupant, who met his stare with a neutral expression until the boy said, "You've got horns, too..."

The one with shining horns nodded, turning after a moment to look across the sea at the Castle. The boy followed his gaze and jumped, perhaps coming to the first realisation of how far he had rowed. Any pursuit was still invisible to Dormin's senses, let alone his or the wanderer's mortal ones. 

The wanderer's tone was flat as he said, "They tried to sacrifice you, didn't they."

"-Yes." He looked down. "I got away."

"...Good." Dormin could feel the slowly bubbling edges of his nausea as he contemplated how to resist an order. "...Come with me." The feeling abated somewhat as he turned and walked away from the cliff without further explanation. The boy lingered with his uncertainty at the top of the cliff for several moments before he followed, letting himself be led to one of the wanderer's many campsites. There he had left his things, and there he produced a piece of dried jerky from his rucksack.

"Here," he said, holding it out. The boy looked at the food, then up at him, not taking it. The wanderer took a bite, though he was not hungry, then offered it again, shaking it in emphasis. The boy took it, slowly, and sat on the other side of the fire pit, looking at the meat in his hands. He took a hesitant bite, chewed, swallowed, waited some seconds for anything wicked to happen, then all at once was wolfing it down. The wanderer watched him with sad eyes.

He ate that piece, two more, and part of a third before shyly offering the rest back. The wanderer took it and returned it to his rucksack, asking, "What's your name, child?"

"It's Jindal."

Jindal. All that he was, condensed into two syllables. His elder nodded quietly, then stood, walking around behind the boy. Jindal eyed him warily, though by his thoughts Dormin knew it was from his general habit of mistrust than from suspecting him of anything specific. They knew he would have been wiser to, for They could sense nausea and a headache building within the wanderer from his curse and otherwise, but Jindal was only a young mortal boy.

"See that tower?"

The boy slowly followed his pointing finger and beheld the Shrine of Worship. Dormin felt Jindal's eyes upon it, felt his awe anew. "Wow... it's even bigger than the castle..."

The wanderer's headache was getting worse.

He closed his eyes, willing his hand to move to his hunting knife. Jindal did not notice, thoroughly distracted by the Shrine. Dormin did not reach out to either, only watched from behind Their seal as fingers curled around a handle, shot out to grip a horn, and slashed a knife across a throat.

* * *

Less than a score of hours passed before Dormin sensed the pursuit's arrival. Though he was busy, They spoke to the wanderer anyway. " _Thou art not alone._ "

He clenched his teeth, hard enough that he did not answer out loud. _I can tell_ , he thought, loudly enough for Dormin to hear. _Now go away. This is your fault_.

Dormin did not feel it germane to argue the point at that time. They took Their attention away from him briefly, but soon looked back. He could tell? They considered asking, but seeing his work, They thought better of it and let him be. Perhaps it was yet another odd effect of how Their soul twined into his and sustained him.

Instead, Dormin focused on the pursuit, finding three holy warriors who were armoured head to toe with masks of chain mail obscuring their features from mortal sight. Dormin could infer a few things from the motion of their muscles: that they were young and fit, barely winded by the crossing from the Castle, and that their expressions were subdued and serious. But They had no insight into their thoughts, not even the vague edges They could still sense from the land's one occupant even when he was at his most bitter. Something or another, most likely the power of one of Their rivals, was shielding them from the full scrutiny of Their senses. 

The trio grounded their boat beside Jindal's and spent a few moments looking at it before disembarking, making signs of warding as they stepped onto Dormin's land, none daring to speak. They followed Jindal's tracks through the sand, followed his only avenue of escape up the ramp, and had little sign to track at the top. But they were skilled, and after a period of slow, meticulous hunting, one of them stumbled across more than enough sign to reveal what had transpired.

A pair of manacles. A pair of severed horns. A large, cooled pool of blood, with a dripping trail leading deeper into Dormin's land.

The other two saw how their fellow came to an abrupt stop, crossing to see what he had found. The two subordinate men looked to their leader in his cape, silently asking what to do, all three wearing expressions of worry and dread behind their mail. The leader eventually made a hand signal and pointed, which one of his subordinates attended to by picking up Jindal's severed horns and the other by tucking away the manacles. Once they finished, they followed their leader as he set off along the blood trail.

There was the briefest catch in his step as, Dormin guessed, he heard a scraping sound. He pressed on, following the sound of bone against earth, and soon the three holy warriors found their quarry, slain by another hunter. Dormin watched the three of them watch him digging under a tree with a shovel improvised out of a deer's shoulder bone, and They could see past their masks that their expressions were horror-stricken. They guessed it was not of simple disgust at a child's mangled corpse.

"You..." said the leader. "You're the Horned Wanderer."

He stopped digging.

"What have you done?"

He rose, leaving the bone shovel in the ground, and turned, staring flatly at them. Jindal's blood dyed his clothes.

"What have you _done?!_ " the leader repeated. "If we can't provide the sacrifice-"

"Then the Queen will punish your village?" He let the words hang in the air for several seconds before adding to them. "You'd deserve it, even if you had succeeded." He stepped forward a pace, but though Dormin saw their muscles tense, the holy warriors held their ground as he lifted his hand to point an accusing finger at them.

"I know what happens to boys like him," he said. "You and your gods blame them for every little thing. Every _last, little_ thing." He swept a hand through the air, continuing, "You shun them when someone catches cold." He made a fist, pounding on nothing. "You beat them when crops fail." He lowered into a hunter's stalk, beginning to drive the warriors back. "They live lives exiled and miserable, and then the Queen takes them." He continued advancing, and they were driven back with nothing but his age and reputation, nothing but a pair of horns and blazing, burning eyes.

"You could stop this. But you won't, will you?" He snarled and spat on the ground, making the warriors flinch as if even his saliva was cursed. "Then you'd never have anywhere to put them. The Queen of the Mists gives you a place to send your sacrificial calves once you're done with them, doesn't she." He paused his advance, letting the three warriors back away enough to regain their space. Their hands were raised so he could see they had drawn no weapons, although one of them was holding both of Jindal's horns in his left, which he fixed his attention on for some long moments.

All at once his voice rose to a shout. "Take his horns to her! She'll know what it means! If you and yours are cursed to stone and spirits over this you damn well deserve it!" He drew his knife and lunged forward, brandishing it as the warriors finally broke, fleeing before him. " _Get out!_ Get out before I kill you, too!" 

Even enraged, in truth he only gave chase for a few dozen paces before abruptly halting, watching their flight. As they ran, the way he shook with hatred and anger slowly settled into impotent trembling. The holy warriors had no way of knowing he had been bluffing. Killing Jindal to spare him his fate as one of the Queen's servants had taken a lot of will, and that had been one motion, one action. Dormin knew he would not have been able to resist her orders for long enough to fight anyone who wasn't as defenceless as an unarmed, distracted child.

After the three warriors passed from his sight, he looked over his shoulder, teeth and heart clenching at the half-dug grave and Jindal's little body. 

"It's my fault," he whispered. He turned and bore himself back to his work on heavy legs.

* * *

It was not until after Jindal's body was buried and his killer had collapsed into a deep, dreamless slumber against the tree that Dormin finally sensed the boy's spirit. As a violent strike to the head could leave living mortals concussed, a sudden and violent death could leave their spirits in a kind of unconsciousness, sometimes for days at a time.

Dormin was a god of death. They knew such things.

With Their voices for Jindal's spirit only, They said, " _That way._ " Jindal was too dazed to manifest as anything but a vague shadow in the air, but all the same Dormin knew They had his attention. " _That way,_ " They repeated. " _Go that way, Jindal._ "

Jindal could not visibly cringe away from Their voices, but had he a body, Dormin knew he would have. They waited, letting what They had said settle into him, and were rewarded by a slight shift in the right direction. And so They called again.

And again.

It took hours.

Patient hours of Dormin calling, guiding, unable to lead but able to point in the manner of an incorporeal deity, Jindal only able to understand because he himself was reduced to naught but an incorporeal spirit. And even then, his understanding was hampered by having been a living mortal of flesh and soul not long before, as well as his apprehension at following directions from any deity, let alone one he had been taught to hate and fear.

It took hours. But eventually, what was left of Jindal finally decided to trust Dormin at least that far. They watched as he finally crossed the threshold and vanished from Their senses. Hobbled and chained, They could not follow.

" _This way,_ " They would have said, were They free. At least They still remembered where the path was, had seen briefly that the other side of Their lands still stood when, once, They had reached into that place for a horse and beyond it for a maiden.

Beyond it for a maiden...

The thought made Them turn Their attention across the sea, seeking the strange colours that marked her presence, and They found she was not in the Castle. And the wanderer was still sleeping, if restlessly. Over the hours Dormin had spent moving Jindal on, he had begun dreaming of other boys with horns, other boys who had been trusting, had been loved, and who were dead.

Dormin reached out and gave him a mental shove, enough to make him jerk as he awakened. He hissed something incoherent and angry under his breath, but Dormin spoke over him before he could truly find his tongue. " _The Queen approacheth._ "

He froze.

It took some seconds before he lifted his head to gaze in the direction of the ocean. He swallowed dryly and stood, one hand on the tree. He looked down at Jindal's unmarked grave, closed his eyes tightly against it, and opened them again looking towards the Shrine of Worship. "How close?"

" _She is perhaps halfway. She cometh through ordinary means, in one of the Castle's boats._ "

He let out a shaky sigh, glancing in the ocean's direction again before busying himself with some fallen sticks. Dormin was not certain of his purpose, but remained silent, watching. He was laying them out in various configurations on the loose earth of Jindal's grave, snapping twigs as he needed, brushing others aside.

He had seemingly just finished to his satisfaction when a voice spoke through the wind and into his mind. Dormin only heard it because They were a god, because his power was Theirs, and because hearing it made him lose all concentration on trying to shut Them out.

" _We need to speak,_ " she said. " _I'm at the beach. Come and meet me._ "

She was near enough that the most disobedience he could muster was a slowing of his initial movements as he stood and walked for the beach, his resistance already buried deeply enough that his body did not even have the decency to give him a headache. She had called, and he moved, outward resistance sinking deeper and deeper as he walked until to all observation he was merely a horned man travelling towards something.

Dormin glanced away as he reached the ramp to the beach, observing how he had laid the sticks out. It dawned on Them that he had written Jindal's name. 

They turned Their attention back to him as he arrived at the beach, watched him halt at her hand signal. She regarded him from in front of the boat she had used to make the crossing: the tide had already erased all sign of where Jindal and the warriors' boats had been grounded. A cold mist had blown in with her, for she carried the Castle wherever she went. 

"Put your knife down," she said. 

He drew it and let it drop to the sand.

She stepped toward him, and when he rocked his weight away from her, she said, "It's only me. Let me look at you."

He obeyed, and did not tremble in the mist, did not tremble as she walked a slow circle around him. Only his eyes moved to look at her when she sighed. "I just... I don't know what's wrong with you sometimes. _Look_ at you." She gestured, the motion cutting through the air in a way that Dormin could not focus directly on. "You're covered in blood." 

Dormin overheard the thought, _So are you._ Straining against her was taking all of his will, for all that it was futile, and he had none to spare on keeping Dormin from seeing into him. But _she_ could _not_ hear. If there was one small comfort in how he was bound to her, it was that. He chose to say nothing, and every choice he could make with her not four feet from him was precious.

She regarded him for a few moments longer, then crossed to the boat, producing a folded set of clothes. "Get changed," she said. "Those are ruined."

Dormin felt his intent to scramble away from her as, without the faintest glimmer of an expression, he stripped down and approached the Queen to take the new clothes. He did not recoil from her touch when he took them, did not groan deep in his throat at her gaze. The clothes fit well: she knew his measurements and she knew that he struggled with pulling anything over the top of his head. When he finished, he could only look to her for further commands, though the tendons of his ankles felt as though they might snap from the restrained tension.

At length, she shook her head. "I need to be at the Castle. Many of our sons will be coming of age soon."

He could not whimper.

"I will bring word when it quiets down." She smiled. It was his wife's smile, though not on his wife's face, and he was terrified of it. "Even with your episodes, dearest, I think it will be enough. I will be young again."

Dormin heard him howling. He said nothing. He said nothing, and he did nothing as the Queen approached and embraced him, his body hugging her back even as he struggled to flail backwards without a finger obeying. She eventually pulled back, standing with cold hands on his shoulders and holding eye contact. He could not look away.

Finally, she let him go. He watched as the Castle's boat bore her away, the mists chasing leisurely after her, his control slowly returning until his knees buckled and dropped him to the sand.

Only then could he shiver in the warm sun of the land's endless day.


	3. Carving

Some long hours later, Dormin watched as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, gazed across the ocean for a little longer, then retrieved his knife and made his slow, heavy way back up to the cliff. They watched as he dropped against the tree again, staring at nothing and certainly not looking at the grave or the sticks spelling two syllables atop it. They watched as he slept, dreaming through a series of murders that each woke him for but a few minutes at a time, so exhausted was he. He stayed asleep for the last few dream cycles; Dormin suspected he did not remember the details when he finally awakened too rested to go back to sleep yet too tired to do much besides resume staring ahead.

When his strength eventually returned, he rose, finally taking a long look at Jindal's grave. His heart was closed to Them, but Dormin heard the edges of his thoughts: wondering if he had a family who missed him and suspecting he did not, wondering how what was left of his wife had reacted to the holy warriors, feeling both a vicious hope and guilt for feeling it.

He stepped around the grave, moving onward, and They watched, perplexed, as he ranged around the western cape and the rock formations near the grave of Dirge's Colossus, picking up this rock and that rock and testing them against each other. He had skill with flinting, but at first Dormin could not guess to what purpose he had committed himself with the old art. It did not seem to be arrowheads, nor a stone knife to replace the steel one he had brought from outside Their lands, nor perhaps a new axe to cut wood for his fires. He took a relatively long rock and flinted it down to a narrow tip, then set it aside. They watched as he hammered the cast-off flakes against other types of stone until he found one that took gouges from what the tool was made of.

They could sense an anticipation within him, but the work had taken hours and he was still tired. He slept against the rock wall of the canyon, where he dreamt of running towards children's voices that cried for help and for water. They sometimes failed abruptly and sometimes, worse, faded only slowly. He never reached them.

When he awakened, he found a rounded example of the softer stone and propped it against the cliff face that marked the western edge of Dormin's land. He took his new tool in his right hand, a second stone of the same material in his left for a hammer, and placed the tool's point to the round stone. Dormin watched him hammer a line. Then a second line, and a third. Dormin was just beginning to see that he was forming the syllable 'Jin' when a misplaced strike split the softer stone in two, erasing his work.

He stared at the pieces, then grit his teeth and rose, stalking along the cliff in search of another suitable stone.

" _Thou hast carved thyself a chisel,_ " Dormin observed.

"Go away," the wanderer answered.

They regarded him for a few moments. " _Thou wilt discover better stone higher up, towards the isolated sand dune._ "

He halted, looking towards the Shrine of Worship. Two or three heartbeats later, he hunched his shoulders and continued searching along the canyon. Dormin might have sighed, were They corporeal, but in any case left him to his own devices, keeping a small part of Their awareness on him as They turned most of Their attention back to the seal.

Their concentration was interrupted when he spoke a few hours later. "I don't know who you were," he said, and Dormin turned away from the seal, finding his horns, the rest of his soul, and his body. He stood above Jindal's grave, arms folded loosely as he looked down at the little marker he had carved. "I know you probably didn't have the best life. I'm sorry."

He shifted his weight from side to side in a slow, even rhythm that he was not conscious of. "I wonder if you had anyone who will miss you. Even a pet. I hope so. I hope that person... or that animal... lives well despite... despite what happened. If they exist." He let go of his own elbow and rubbed at his throat, silent for some moments. "You were brave, and if..." His hand dropped, hanging loosely at his side as he slouched forward. "If there was any other way I could think of, I'd have done it. I'm sorry. It's - it's my fault."

He stood in silent pain for some time. Dormin eventually chanced reaching out. " _Wanderer._ "

Their voices made him straighten, set his expression to blankness. "What do you want."

" _We sent him on. He lingereth not._ "

He lifted a hand to his shoulder, curling his fingers into his hair as he let out a long sigh. "...Thank you." The next thing he spoke in a mutter, but Dormin heard him clearly all the same: "Better you than her or whatever any other gods wanted to do to him." He turned away from the grave, and Dormin knew even through his closed heart that he was foraging for food and for more stone.

* * *

The next marker he carved, naturally enough, was for his firstborn and first-killed, Lar. "I'm sorry I couldn't help," he said. "I wish... I wish I had known. I wish I had realised just how... how far gone she was. And me with her." There was a long silence as he stood over Lar's grave marker. "I miss you," Dormin eventually heard him whisper. "I'm sorry."

He spent the rest of his waking hours at rest, sitting against the tree to face the ocean. But when he woke, he spent his next waking hours gathering stones, and his next chipping away at their shapes to ready them for names, falling asleep with chisel in one hand and hammer rolling out of the other. The work kept him from remembering his dreams.

Then it was Tuin. Dormin remembered that name. The wanderer had taken him away from the Castle in the Mist along with the Castle's sword, resisting the Queen's summons when his son had come of age through tenacity and stubborn endurance until she closed the distance between them. He had tried to fight her, but his will subsumed under hers and he had landed no strikes with the sword; Tuin had died in the sacrificial chamber like his older brother.

None of this did the wanderer speak of. Dormin suspected he was thinking of it, but all that passed his lips was another whispered apology.

The next child who had been caught up in everything had been his first daughter, but he did not immediately carve a marker for her. Instead, he carved a multitude of small, enormous names, all he could remember of the children he had brought to the Castle under the orders of what remained of his wife. Dormin heard him give short, quiet eulogies: where the boys had come from if he remembered, this or that about their personalities and appearances, apologies for his actions, for their hard lives and agonised deaths, wishing he could have done more and ashamed he didn't.

Only then did he carve out a marker for Yuzo. He stood above her memorial in silence to the point of exhaustion, exhaustion he could find no relief from. The next several scores of hours saw him pacing up and down the cliffs above the beach that faced the Castle, never looking hard enough across the sea to make it out, vision blurred from how afraid he was to sleep and how nightmares wearing his wife's then-new face, wearing Yuzo's face, chased him awake when he tried.

When his dreams settled to more normal unease, he tried to get back to his task. Dormin knew there were still many who the lone undying mortal wanted to memorialise, even if it was only in Their land, too far away from where most of the little souls were bound to have any effect on their fates. But his hands shook and his breath came up short and his vision would not focus. 

" _Thou should leave it,_ " They said, after observing several false starts one after the other, " _until thy strength returneth._ "

He growled and to all appearances otherwise ignored Them.

The thought of his carving made Them think of something else. Still aware of him - They could not avoid being so - Dormin turned most of Their attention to the lowest part of the Shrine of Worship. There was plenty of carving material there. But could They reach?

On a whim, They tried. And They failed. No matter how They stretched and strained against the seal, it held. There was a crack in the seal near Their target, however. Dormin contemplated focusing Their efforts on it, if only enough to get a pinprick worn into the seal large enough to affect the old offering, and a few moments later wondered what purpose had drawn Them to it of a sudden. There was no wood for bowmaking there, and any other weapon would hold little interest.

His movement drew Their attention. It had been perhaps six hours since They had spoken to him, and it appeared he was abandoning his work and the entire western cape for the time being. They watched as he climbed the slope, attracting the wary attention of a herd of deer as he walked yet not spooking them, for they could tell he was not hungry. Dormin watched as he passed through the tunnels where Dirge's Colossus had once swam, watched how he seemed to pay no heed to its worn, decayed body. They watched as he did not quite emerge from the other side, staying in the shade. 

They watched as he let himself drop down against the cave wall, and They watched as his dreams started. His wife had returned, and so had his children. They left him to his fear, for Dormin was not a god of dreams. They knew that.

They looked at the metal under the Shrine again.


	4. Manifesting

After walking, hunting, foraging away from the western cape for a month, the wanderer returned and resumed his work on the gravestones. In time, there were very few left to make, save for any new deaths at the Castle in the Mist, and Dormin had sensed none since Jindal's escape. But he could not bring himself to carve those last few. Dormin was not certain why. They did not ask. Before the wanderer returned to the cape and after, Dormin continued Their own work, picking and pushing at the seal.

Some time after he began stalling at his work, while he was foraging in a low mood on the western beach, Dormin finally slipped through the cracks and manifested outside Their prison.

It was not much of a manifestation. Only a small glimmer, not enough to envelop light and show darkness, not even enough to cast a shadow. But it was a beginning. They did not strain to hold it, and They found They could withdraw it and show it in different places around the land. And, if They _did_ strain a little, yes: just beyond the land, as well.

They were so pleased by the success They almost did not notice how the wanderer halted. With a puzzled expression, he turned away from a melon he had been knocking on, scratching at the inside of his left ear. This seemingly brought no relief: frustration punctured his mood as he turned his head side to side, turned completely around, then scratched vigorously at the base of his left horn. He shook his head out like a horse and glared in the direction of the manifestation.

Dormin did not think he would be able to see Them, for Their little blink of a manifestation was under the high tide. Curious, They left it out, watching as he lowered to his hunting stalk to approach. He stopped shortly before the water, swaying his weight back and forth. His heart was closed; what Dormin could sense said he was still frustrated, but now also curious.

Seemingly on a whim, he picked up a stone and flung it with great accuracy at Their manifestation, though still he could not see it. The stone passed harmlessly through Them, and Dormin saw him bob his head after the splash settled, squinting. He took a step closer, then another into ankle deep water, still moving his head up, down, back, forth.

When the water was up to his chest, he braced himself, took a breath, and ducked his head underwater, opening his eyes through the salt of the sea and beholding the sparkling light of Dormin's manifestation. They felt a jolt in his emotions, and it was enough to forget himself momentarily. The next wave surged through him and bowled him heel over head, leaving him sputtering on the beach.

"That's-" He coughed, spat more water out, and scrambled up to his feet, wiping his eyes fruitlessly on his soaked garments. "That's you, isn't it!"

" _Indeed._ "

He scratched at the inside of his ear and straightened. "Does this-" he cut himself off, snorting forcefully into a double cough. Almost speaking too fast for his tongue to keep up, he said, "Does this mean You're almost free, Dormin?"

Dormin regarded him. His heart was open to Them and to the world, for he was grinning and full of hope, full of joy, full of the anticipation of relief. He looked, for once, as young as his body did. And he had shown a rare measure of respect in the divine pronoun.

It took longer than They might have thought it would to answer, truthfully, " _No._ "

His grin fell.

" _It is... it is if We hath carved enough of a hole to slip a finger through the walls of Our prison._ "

His shoulders drooped. "Does... does it at least mean You have better control of Yourself?"

Again, the answer was longer in coming than They would have anticipated, had They considered the situation as a hypothetical. " _Our power still escapeth. There will be yet more children born with horns._ "

For some moments, it seemed as if he was frozen in place, the ocean's waters spreading past him and receding away from him; past him, away. The wind blew through the scraggy grass that called the beach home. Insects and other crawling things, disturbed by his earlier foraging, crept forth from their hiding places, were banished back into them as he screamed at Dormin's manifestation, "Then what good is it?!"

" _It is a beginning, wanderer._ "

No longer on a whim, he found and flung another stone at the manifestation, still accurate despite being unable to see it under the waves. "It took _this long_ to get your damned finger through! It's been over three hundred -" And he flung another stone, "It's been over three _hundred_ and fifty _years!_ For your _finger!_ "

He looked left and right and spun himself completely around, unable to find any further stones in quick reach, and settled for jabbing his finger at Dormin's manifestation. "How many more children are going to _die_ before you're free?! How many, Dormin?! How - how - "

The way he had ended up facing gave him a view across the ocean, where a mist was blowing in. His voice caught as he beheld it. "...How... how m- how... many..."

Dormin saw a shiver run through his fingers down his neck to his knees. Before They could say anything, They felt his heart slam shut as he broke and fled away from the beach, away from Them but towards Them, away from the Queen, away.

They withdrew the manifestation. He stopped running as he reached the graveyard, where he dropped heavily under its tree to curl his back against it. 

" _Wanderer._ "

"She's coming," he whispered.

" _Wanderer. It is only natural weather. She remaineth in the Castle._ "

" _She's coming._ " He closed his eyes, hands over his ears and fingers split around his horns. "Go away."

Dormin watched him, looked across the sea to confirm what They already knew, and withdrew back into Themself, leaving him be. Even on the edge of Their awareness as he was, even with his heart closed, They heard his shaking, relieved exhale. 

They looked below the Shrine of Worship. The crack in the seal near the old offering had been expanded as well. As with the other cracks, it was not nearly big enough to slip all the way through, but...

They reached out and made a spark, which chipped the great iron stone below Them. It made Them contemplative. Contemplative of the wanderer and his wife, of how Their wild power sustained both of them, and of the Castle in the Mist and its sword.

It was true that They were a god of death. But They glanced at where the wanderer was still curled against the graveyard's tree, and knew They were a god of life, too. Turning Their attention upwards to the Shrine of Worship's garden, They watched the fluttering doves. One had found a fruit and was pecking at it, disdaining its seeds where she could in favour of the flesh. Dormin watched as a seed fell from her beak to the ground.

They extended a spark of power through the seal near the seed, attracting the bird's attention. She flapped her way down, pecked at the seed, and held it long enough to drop it where Dormin flashed another brief manifestation before losing interest in favour of her hunger.

But for Dormin's purposes, it was enough. They held some of Their power around the seed, for it only took as much effort as a mortal resting their hand on a surface.


	5. Eulogies

Chisel to stone, power to power, he and They continued their work. It seemed as if the way his emotions were stirred to frustrated anger by the encounter at the beach had given the wanderer enough strength to finish his task.

He set the next marker he finished down on the edge of the graveyard closest to the sea. All of the children marked in that area were his daughters, and the wanderer took a long time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. "Orisi," he said, "I'm sorry. I know drowning is a horrible, painful way to die." He lifted a hand to his throat, absently rubbing it. "Believe me, I do know. But she... there wasn't a way to stop her with a knife by then. Do you understand? She was too close, and you... I couldn't let her." He folded his arms tightly and shivered, though the full warmth of Dormin's sun was upon him. "She didn't take your body. I wish... I wish I had been able to stop her from taking Sati's. I'm sorry you could never meet her, and she could never meet you."

He stood with his arms folded for some minutes, his breath eventually catching at a loud wave breaking on the beach below. "I'm sorry you died for nothing."

He spent the rest of his waking hours high on the cliffs near the grave of Dirge's Colossus, avoiding looking out to sea. When he slept, he was under a smothering darkness, serpents circling him, their eyes reflecting like stars. Then, a serpent greater than any of them joined the school, dispersing the lesser of its kind: it was a memory of Hydrus' Colossus. When its fins sparked he saw wide-eyed bodies in the gloom, and woke gasping.

A few hours later, he carved another name into stone, and he set it out near the edge of the graveyard closest to the cliffs, surrounding it with twelve markers that carried no names. "Iteo, I'm sorry. I hope your friends weren't who found you. Were they your friends?" He was silent for a few moments. "I don't know. It was them I heard your name from, and it was the only thing I heard that didn't sound insulting. Even if they weren't, it was their families who set them against you. They were children, too; forgive them. No. I - I hope _they_ were _not_ who found you."

He drew a deep breath and sighed. "As for the rest of you, I'm sorry I couldn't learn your names. After I killed Iteo, I... I knew I only had so much time if that plan was going to work." His shoulders slumped. "It wasn't enough."

Silence. The wind picked up, catching in the tree and his hair. 

"I hope the gods of your lands are taking care of you, at least." He clenched his teeth. "I know they probably aren't."

Dormin watched as he turned around and walked away from his graveyard, ranging in no particular direction and to no particular purpose. They knew there was one last marker to come, but They said nothing to him over the next threescore of hours, unable to see what he was thinking while awake, unable to avoid his dreams and their violent symbols while he slept. These dreams seemed to follow a pattern, though the exact symbols changed every time and Dormin still did not know the true sequence of events as the wanderer remembered them. There were signs of an early winter, signs of a birthday, a summons, and a murder.

Eventually, as Dormin knew he would, he returned to the graveyard, where he carved two short, small syllables. This marker he placed closer to the tree than any of the others save Jindal's. For a long time, he stood in silence above it, listening to the wind through the branches above, to the gulls calling. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and low. "Rilu. What can I say?" He folded his arms. The sea birds continued to call, heedless of his sorrow. "What can I say about you, child?"

He swallowed, though his mouth was dry. "You were doing well. I know you - you would have grown up short, but you'd have grown up strong, and clever. I did my best, you did your best. You... you were good at foraging. You were doing very well, I think. Yes." He paused. "I wish I could have shown you how to ride a horse." He glanced around the rest of the markers. "...I wish I could have shown any of you how to ride a horse."

A pair of songbirds argued over their territory in the branches above him. His breath caught in what might have turned into a stressed laugh, in another place or at another time. "I'm such a fool. No. No, Rilu..." He looked back at the marker, voice even lower. "What I wish is that you were... that you'd had a chance to live. You could have had children of your own, and grandchildren."

He tried to swallow again. "I'm sorry," he said through it, "I'm sorry, that I couldn't find another way, I..." He clenched his teeth, lowering his head, and could not speak for several moments. "...I hope that - that you knew I loved you. I think I said that. I... I must have. Mustn't I?" He shook his head. "You were my son. As much as - as Lar and Tuin and all the others." He could no longer swallow. "It was my actions that caused you, after all. That doomed you."

He drew a hard breath and pinched his nose, getting his fingertips wet. "I - loved you. I'll never, never see you again. I hope you're - being... taken care of." In a whisper, he added, "I worry that you're not."

His whole hand was over his eyes now, breath hitching. He could say nothing for a long time. "I'm sorry, Rilu - that's all, all I can - can say."

* * *

Dormin observed with some confusion when he next woke as They realised Rilu's was not the last name he evidently planned to carve into stone, and that this new marker was larger than the others. They observed with even more confusion as he picked the stone up and stomped his way to the place where the landbridge had once been. When he had first come to Their lands the gaps had been small enough to leap across. Jumping, either intending in vain to reach the other side or intending in equal vain to plunge to his death below, did not seem to be his aim.

He dropped the marker hard near the cliff's edge and glared at it. "... _You_ already have one," he snarled. He circled the carved stone, voice full to overflowing with anger and pain. " _You_ don't need one. Damn you." He extended an arm towards the graveyard of horned boys and girls whose bodies had been stolen. "But you're not damned like _them_ , are you?" He grit his teeth. "You had a family and a village and at least one god of the land. You - you could have stopped this. You could have _tried_ to stop this."

He pointed accusingly at the stone, yelling at the man it represented. "You could have _tried!_ Any of you lords or any of your subjects could have _tried!_ But, no - no!" He stomped his foot to one side of the marker. "No, you let a madman take your son. You sent him away to die. What did you think I was going to do to him?! Didn't you _care?!_ "

He stomped his other foot. "How could you _not - care?!_ "

With strength that was from Dormin's soul, he snatched the stone marker up and hurled it as hard as he could at the narrowing strip of land that had once kept the bridge aloft. He watched, drawing hard, quick breaths, as it struck, bounced, and fell the rest of the way into the sea.

Dormin saw him swallow, still sucking in breath. They saw him drop to a sit, watched his breathing slowly even out, and saw him curl his head to his knees.


	6. No Escape

The autumn passed into a snowless winter and the winter passed into spring. The wanderer's raw wounds settled back into scars, his dreams calming enough to let him sleep through at least every other dream cycle. The chisel and hammer went unused until, noticing a small ember across the sea, Dormin called, " _Wanderer._ " To Their mild surprise, he seemed to heed it, pausing in his task of winding a sinew rope. " _One who beareth Our mark is again being taken to the Castle._ "

He gazed at the Shrine of Worship for some moments before hauling to his feet. Dormin watched as he started the long walk for the western cape, and They watched across the sea as the ember of the child's horns moved. Perhaps he would be as brave and cunning as Jindal must have been. Perhaps another would at least escape a prolonged death and enslaved spirit for a quick one and the peace Dormin could direct him to in Their Own afterlife, even if it was true They could no longer monitor it directly.

But the horns went deeper into the Castle, travelled upward along the lift, and came to rest. Dormin watched for a few minutes, but there was no more motion. They turned Their attention to the lone mortal; he was closed off, but even so, the way his pace slackened from a brisk jog down to a plodding walk told Them he understood. He said nothing as he crossed Their land, went around the collapsed land bridge to pass through the dune cave, and sat at the cliff facing across the sea.

There he waited at vigil. He waited, avoiding water until he could no longer bear it and drank. He remained awake, nodded off, woke up again. He waited, and his shoulders sagged like the bags under his eyes. He waited, and waited, and was silent.

Dormin strained a little against the seal, and could sense enough to feel echoes of pain and terror dulled by exhaustion before They were pushed back into place.

He waited. They waited.

Over nearly fourscore hours, the ember dimmed and faded until it was gone.

" _Wanderer._ "

"You don't need to tell me," he rasped with a voice hoarse from disuse and sorrow. "It's been three days." He rose to his feet, standing with his gaze held across the sea. Dormin listened to him coughing until he finally took a long draught from a waterskin. It seemed to mark an ending in his mind: he turned away from the cliff and walked the short distance to his graveyard, standing over it in solemn thought.

" _There are more coming,_ " said Dormin.

"I know," he answered, not taking his gaze off the stones.

" _We mean that there are more coming presently. We see how their horns move._ "

He rubbed at his shoulder, muttering to himself, "It must have taken this long for her to organise everything after Jindal escaped." He straightened, taking a half-step to look behind himself at the Shrine of Worship. "How long?"

" _At his current pace, the next sacrifice will arrive in sevenscore hours or eight._ "

He made an acknowledging sound in his throat, turning back to the graveyard. Dormin observed him counting on his fingers as he performed silent arithmetic, for his sense of time was different from Theirs. Not long later, he crossed to his chisel, sitting down with it held loosely in one hand. The months had coated it with the dust of plants and the grime of weather. "Dormin. What year is it?"

" _By whose count?_ "

He was silent for several moments. "Let's say by your count. How long has it been since..." He lifted his head to look in the direction of the sea, the chisel turning idly in his fingers. "...Since the Castle in the Mist gained its latest... ruler. How long has it been since then, Dormin?"

It was as momentous an event to begin a calendar count from as any. " _Since that time, three-hundred sixty-five years hath passed._ " 

Dormin thought They felt the edge of a question forming in his mind, but he said nothing more to Them, merely using the last of the waterskin's supply to clean off the chisel and resuming his work as if there had been no months-long pause. There was no name for this marker, of course: neither he nor They had any way of finding it out. He carved a numeral three hundred sixty-five and a numeral one, picked the stone up with easy strength, and set it carefully in place near one of the outer edges of the graveyard, near Iteo's marker.

"I'm sorry I don't know more about you, whoever you were. I hope, one day..." His gaze was drawn across the sea. The Castle was not visible for the mist that named it. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked back at the marker. "I hope, one day, you and the others can find peace. I do." He let his head bow, eyes closed tight. "If I find something new to try, I will." He shook his head, teeth together. "I'm so sorry." 

Dormin listened to his slow breathing for some time. Eventually he raised his head and stepped around the graveyard, continuing on to pass through the canyon and the cave of Dirge's Colossus. Sixscore hours later and he returned, waterskins filled almost to dripping, rucksack heavy with food, heart heavy with sorrow and closed to Dormin's sight.

There he sat at another vigil, carving another marker at its end.

And another.

And yet more.

When he slept, he dreamed. If there had been other mortals, perhaps Dormin could have looked away, let him have his nightmares under Their eternal sun. Perhaps if there had been other mortals, They could have left him alone as he wished, untroubled and unassisted by the god of the land. But there were not, and his nightmares had only grown worse with time, violent and terrible, and They could not look away as he slept.

Dormin was a god of light and darkness, life and death. They had never counted sleep and wakefulness among Their domains, nor that state mortals experienced of being conscious while unconscious. They had of occasion spoken to Their followers while they were in that state, of course, but any deity could. Never had They tried more subtle manipulation.

And yet...

And yet he was having one about his last son again. 

This time the sign of an early winter was a frost-killed bird. Dormin knew what would come next, and in a vague way so did the dreamer, but this time, They lent Their voices to the dream, saying, " _It is not yet time._ "

The wanderer and the memory of his son stood confused, and such was his confusion that he awakened, blinking. As he came back to his waking self, he snarled, "Don't _ever_ do that again." 

" _Do not misread Our intent, wanderer, and do not be ungrateful._ "

"Ungrateful?!" He rose to stalk out from under the graveyard's tree until he could see the distant Shrine of Worship and point at it. "You're telling me I'm to be _grateful_ for you interfering? Haven't you done that _enough?_ "

" _If thou would allow it, perhaps We could drive away thy nightmares before they-_ "

"Shut your mouth, or mouths, or whatever you have." He ran a hand through his hair. "Wake me up if you want to, _fine_ , just don't do _that_ again." He whirled away, for all the good it did, for all the good he had to know it wouldn't do, heart closed. Dormin heard the edges of guilt in his thoughts and let him be.

A few of his sleep cycles later, They shoved him out of a dream as he prepared to let fly an arrow at a fawn that bore horns like a calf. He was anything but grateful as he thrashed awake, cursing under his breath. He stood, too quickly as he so often did and therefore unsteadily, and glared at the Shrine. Without a word, he stalked back to the raw stones and resumed carving, preparing more blank markers while he was between vigils. 

Dormin resumed picking at Their seal. The wanderer kept carving.

The children kept dying. 

* * *

Some years later, Dormin was listening to the work of his chisel after the latest marked boy had died when a cacophony of colours pressed in on Their awareness from across the sea. They peered at it, worked out what it meant, and made Their presence known; the wanderer looked toward the Shrine of Worship, shoulders tense.

" _She hath begun her ritual._ "

The chisel clattered against the marker he was working on as he ran to the cliffside to stare across the sea. He could see nothing, but Dormin saw how he shook from tension, and They saw as he turned and fled the cape, stopping to pant for air at the plateau outside the sand cave. They saw him draw his hunting knife and fling his belt off, disrobing and dropping to a sit, weapon hovering point down, aiming, hand shaking, but not striking.

But not striking.

But not striking, because he had tried that before, and it had failed. She had seen through his infertility even when it was only a scar, and healed him with gentle, sincere worry in her voice. Dormin remembered, and knew he remembered.

The knife dropped out of his hand, landing near his belt, and Dormin listened to his rapid, shaking breath.


	7. Alone

It was sixscore hours and a dozen unrestful attempts at sleep later for the wanderer that he and Dormin became aware of the Queen's arrival at the western beach. " _I'm here_ ," she said. " _Come to me, Sabae. It's been too long, my love._ "

They watched as he stood, watched in some confusion as the fear in his heart settled into bleak resignation as he walked. He offered no struggle against the command, not even the simplest defying thought, at least not where Dormin could hear, and with her presence he had little ability to shut Them out.

" _Wanderer?_ "

He did not answer.

" _Wanderer. Time was that thou would have at least resisted._ " They meant it as an encouragement. 

His step did not falter, and his answering thought of _Leave me alone, Dormin_ did not surprise Them. What did was that he continued. _I tried to fight it, didn't you see? I tried, and I tried, and I tried. And it was all for nothing, again and again._

He underlined it with memories, brief images that had no mere words behind them: much, much younger, climbing and slaying the Colossi, only to be slain himself by Emon and his men. _I never should have come_ , he thought.

Older and grown to stasis from the form Dormin had slipped him out of the Ancient Sword's seal in, travelling away from Their lands with his wife, only to be taken with her to the Castle in the Mist, to witness her corruption and transformation. _And we never should have left._

His first son, born and murdered. An attempt on the Queen's life, halted with a command that froze him in place. His first daughter, born, grown, corrupted herself, and birthing another son. Wounds healed, children with throats burnt out with thirst and cut with knives.

_I'm only one foolish man, Dormin. Please leave me alone. Please._

More to himself, but still where They could hear, he thought, _But you're not going to. She's not going to. No one and nothing outside is going to help, either._

Never before had Dormin felt such empty despair behind his thoughts, and They realised he had given up. _He_ had given up, who had broken the first seal with nothing more than a horse, a bow, and a sword he could barely wield. Who had struggled for three centuries and more to make life and death somewhat better for his children, his will bound to what was left of his wife. The thought was... arresting. 

They were silent as he reached the cape and wound his way down to the beach, lifting his head to look at the Queen. Her face was not his wife's, and it was not his first daughter's, nor his second's. She smiled, and he only looked at her blankly.

She approached him and wrapped her arms about his shoulders, saying, "Hello, dearest."

 _We are cursed_ , he thought.

"I'm young again. What do you think?"

He looked at her corpse of a face, her corpse of Sati's face, surrounded by what he could only see as shadows, and made a vague sound in his throat. _We are evil._

She leaned forward, up a little for he was the taller of the two, and kissed him. His body responded to her will, leaning into it and reciprocating. There was gentle comfort in how her hands ran down his sides, as he raised his eyes at the sky, trying futilely to see anything, anything but her. Soon he gave even that up, his heart losing the last of its strength to resist either her will or Dormin's sight.

Dormin pulled away, focusing Their attention on the seal. They were used to ignoring the games of mortals. There had been no choice but to do so, two eternities ago when there were still farms, villages, and cities in Their lands. Every hour of the eternal day one mortal or another was doing something with or to one of their fellows, and They were not a god with infinite sight.

But there had been many mortals, then. Now there were only two. There was no escaping the hazy anguish ruling what little of the wanderer was still present as the Queen disrobed him and they met, nor the broken-down joy he still took from even her cold contact after nearly a decade spent without any at all, nor the guilt he felt for it, nor the love he still remembered, that he knew she still felt. 

The two of them sat leaning against one another after, his mind a low buzz on the edge of Dormin's hearing. Her movement in standing caught Their attention, and They heard her say, "I have to be going. But I brought you something."

He did not rise, tracking her dully as she walked to the boat, as she returned with a new knife of steel sheathed in unadorned iron. "I know your old one must be wearing out by now. Here." 

His body took it, setting it aside in the patchy grass near the cliffside. He said nothing and still did not rise. She regarded him for a few moments before smiling again. "I will return when I can. Take care."

The boat bore her away, and as control started to return to his own will, he began to shake. Once he was as fully back in control as he could be, with her orders still trapping him in Dormin's land, he finally stood, only to let himself drop again in the shelter of the cliffs. He was wedged into a crack with stone pressing on his ribs, his breath shivering.

" _Wanderer,_ " Dormin started, but a high groan cut Them off.

 _Leave me alone,_ he thought, and it was not a snapped demand, but a desperate, agonised plea.

They heeded it, as well as They could. He fell asleep with the cliffside holding him up, and Dormin could feel his dreams beginning. They left him alone through them, though the violence and violation within them pressed in on Their awareness.

Below the Shrine, They chipped at the offering. Within the garden, They saw that the plant They were nurturing was growing taller and stronger.


	8. Games

Days, seasons, years passed. Progress on the Ancient Sword's seal slowed once more into ceaseless tedium picking and pulling at the cracks, but Dormin had known since the seal was laid down that it would be an eternity until They were free, and They were old and patient. Were They alone, perhaps They might have fallen into a tireless rhythm in Their work.

But, of course, They weren't.

They ignored the wanderer at first, as he so desired, but his exhausted, listless depression intruded more often and more insistently into Their Own mood than any blasphemous tirade. For hundreds of years had They known him, and for hundreds of years had They watched his slow decline, had They watched him withdraw again and again to recover from loss after loss. But always, always he _had_ recovered.

Now he spent most of his time near the memorials, gazing across the sea, sometimes seeing the Castle, sometimes seeing nothing. His nightmares brought no catharsis; he no longer woke thrashing from his worst ones, only sat or lay shivering with their echoes until he gained enough strength to rise and move himself back to his spot on the cliff above the sea. He no longer had any sharp words for Dormin when They told him of this or that child being brought to their fate. He only held vigil, carved markers, and stood over them. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. Then it was back to the cliff. 

Over time, Dormin's work on the seal slowed and nearly stopped. Having seen the light come back into the wanderer's spirit - even if it _was_ a harsh glare in Their Own direction - only to see it then pressed out of him so entirely, They found that They missed it. They began to watch him more closely, still refraining from calling out to him. They saw how from time to time he was still driven away from the western cape by his food stores running low or even running out entirely. They saw how foraging and hunting woke him somewhat from his collapsed mood. And it gave Them an idea, one building on others They had already been working on.

Their preparations took little time on the scales of a deity, but long enough on the scales of a mortal, hampered by Their hobbled power and the lifespan of what They continued to cultivate. All the while, Dormin was aware of the lone mortal in Their land, of his dreams, of the children dying and his vigils.

When the preparations were at last finished, They found he had returned to his worn seat, and They finally called out to him. " _Wanderer._ "

He did not acknowledge Them, knees drawn to his chest and despondent gaze drawn across the sea. But he _had_ heard Them. He could not avoid doing so, and They felt the barest flicker of irritation within him. Dormin waited a short time by a mortal's reckoning, then tried again.

" _Wanderer._ "

He heaved a slow sigh and hunched his shoulders. "What," he said, voice flat as sheered slate.

" _Come away from the cliff. We have something to show thee._ "

The wanderer lifted his head and twisted slightly to look in the direction of the Shrine of Worship. "Show me?"

" _Recalleth thou Our manifestation in the sea? We have spread thus across the land._ "

He gave no response. Dormin could feel his thoughts shifting in cold confusion, but looked no closer.

" _In this manner We have laid a path, with something at its end We would show thee._ "

The wanderer let out another slow, heavy sigh. "You're bored enough to play hide and seek with me? Children play that."

Dormin knew it was not They who was bored, who was lonely. They suspected he knew it, too. " _Indulge Us, then,_ " They said. " _Indulge an old god sealed for eternity._ "

At first, it seemed as though the wanderer had no such intent, for he turned away to look across the sea again. But Dormin waited as he sat at the cliff, and waited as he slept against the graveyard's tree. When he awakened, he returned to the cliff, but Dormin saw that he did not sit, remaining standing as he looked into the mist. It was only weather. Dormin let him be, leaving him to his thoughts. Some long minutes later, They were rewarded.

"How long will it be until... until someone else dies there again, Dormin?"

" _The horned children of this generation are yet young. If nothing changes, ten years or so._ "

He was silent for a short time on his own scales, albeit for a long time as a conversation is measured. Dormin chanced continuing. " _We ask again. Come away from the cliff, and see what We have prepared for thee._ "

Another pause, long for a conversation. And again, Dormin's patience was rewarded. They watched, pleased, as he packed his few things and made his way towards the trail that wound its way up to the cave of Dirge's Colossus. He stopped as he passed the western cape's shrine, staring at it with an unreadable expression and a closed heart. 

"Do I get a hint?"

" _Follow thy horns, wanderer._ "

He scoffed. "That's a lousy hint." Even so, he looked forward at the canyon, turning his head side-to-side until some faint itch drew him forward.

He was away from the cliffside, and it was of his own will. It would do for the moment.

Dormin watched him making his way up the cliffs and into the isolated dune where Dirge's Colossus lay. In that place, he stopped beside the ancient corpse for longer than Dormin had expected or planned for. He was silent, and although curiosity stirred within Them, They allowed the diversion. Perhaps he _was_ brooding, but at least it was not at the cliffside or the memorials.

"Was it worth it?" His voice echoed softly around him; he echoed himself, as well. "Was it worth it, destroying these things?"

At first, Dormin said nothing. But he continued: "Well? Was it, Dormin?"

" _Thou knowest circumstances bias Our judgement._ "

He laughed. There was no mirth in his voice. "They bias _everyone's_. I asked what _you_ think."

Dormin regarded him for some time. It was not, They felt, for too long on a conversational scale. " _For the few minutes We were free, of course We would say it was. The Colossi were mere vessels of Our power._ "

He glared at the hole in the ceiling, at the light of the sun it let through. "So am I. So were the children - so _are_ the children."

The immediate, obvious response would have been to agree with him. Dormin tried something else. " _Those circumstances are different. Our power may create them, as it had a part in thy creation, but it bringeth not their deaths. Thou art well aware of that._ "

He was silent, tense, and closed. Dormin continued, " _Was knowing them worth it? Would thou prefer never to have known Lar, or Orisi, or Rilu?_ "

Dormin felt something in his heart creak. "They would have lived if I hadn't."

The wanderer turned away from Dirge's Colossus, following the itch in his horns once more. Dormin kept the thought to Themself that the children would not have existed in the first place without him.

Or her. Or Dormin's rivals and their followers. Or, indeed, Them.

* * *

The itch in his horns led him on a wide circle until he could push southward and eastward, until he could walk near the place where the capital had stood two eternities before. There, the ringing in his ears began - Dormin could not hear it, but observed how he scratched at an ear before realising where it was coming from - and there he halted, slowly turning his head one way and the other.

At first, he chose the wrong direction because of the terrain, climbing a hill and from there losing and regaining his target several times. When he stood at the top of the rise and looked down, reorienting himself towards Dormin's manifestation, he realised his mistake. He was so absorbed in the hunt that some of his barriers were down, which allowed Them to hear the thought, _If I jump from here to the ocean, will it kill me?_

He knew it would not. Not permanently. After some contemplation, he turned and made his way down along a narrow, grassy path. Perched on a cliff facing the southern ocean, not the western, he found the manifestation. There he stood with his arms folded, watching it catch motes of dust and salt in the air. Below him, waves crashed into the cliffs; above, gulls called. There was no mist. The wanderer took a long time to say anything, but not so long on the scale of his own life. "So that's your finger."

" _Or an equally-sized amount of Our body, yes._ "

With a slight change in his expression that might have once resolved to a smile, he asked, "Which finger is it? The middle?"

Dormin allowed him to feel a slight disapproval from Them, earning a faint, amused exhale. He drew his breath in again, letting it out in a sigh. He said nothing more for a time, the tense way he held his shoulders relaxing as he watched the slow passage of small debris through the manifestation. At length he lifted his head to look across the sea, letting his gaze take in the distant hills beyond Dormin's reach. 

"...It's a nice view." Unspoken, but felt at the edges of his heart, was the thought _I can't see any sign of people._ It was a complicated thought: no sign of the Castle in the Mist, no sign of armoured warriors; no sign of children, of friends, of family. He sighed again. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

" _Not the whole of it. Look near Our manifestation, at the grasses and fungi. Are any familiar?_ "

He looked. Dormin observed that his lips pursed briefly at a particular fungus, but he shook his head. They allowed the lie.

" _When other mortals called these lands home, of occasion they would eat that fungus. It induceth stronger forms of emotions felt, and presenteth new and unforeseen sensations._ "

The wanderer said nothing.

" _Its nature maketh it difficult to poison oneself on, as well._ "

Still he said nothing, but his heart closed tightly. He turned away from the manifestation, found a patch of grass, and lay flat on his back, his hands his only pillow. Despite Dormin's sun overhead, he was soon asleep, and soon visited by visions of horned children buried in the sand around Dirge's Colossus. He stood paralysed, hearing each one calling for help, pleading for it, for water, for their parents. When one called for him, he rushed in a dream's slow, constrained run to his side, clawing at the sand. Dormin shoved him awake, knowing he would find nothing but a small corpse if the dream went on; he jerked his knee up, staring at the sky and drawing rapid breaths.

As his breathing began to calm, his hands twisted into his hair. He sat, then stood with a stumble, getting the rest of his breath back as he looked at Dormin's manifestation. They saw his teeth clench and could feel no thoughts; he turned his back and walked away.

Even so. Dormin could see he was using his waking hours to set traps for game, could see that he was gathering wood for fires, along with grasses and roots for meals to cook over them.

As They had told him about Their first manifestation, weak as it was, small as it was, They told Themself it was a beginning.


	9. Dreams

"Do I need to do anything to prepare them?"

He had built up a food store of grasses, roots, two rabbits, three gulls, and water from a small creek nearby. He was building up a store of new arrows, fletched with gull feathers and tipped in stone, and from the rabbit skins he was mending his clothing. The question was the first thing he had said to Dormin since turning away from the fungi some weeks previously, though when he slept They had continued keeping him out of the worst of his dreams. 

They answered, " _Eat something else beforehand. A tea made from the fungus will cause quicker effects and a steeper decline; eating it will proceed more slowly and more gently into and out of the effect._ "

The wanderer nodded, more or less in the manifestation's direction. He finished the clothing patch he was working on and stood, skirting around the manifestation to inspect the fungi. He took two caps back to his camp, following Dormin's advice to have a meal once he arrived.

The taste of the fungus was evidently offensive to him. He ate it anyway, pacing as he waited for its effect to come upon him. Unexpectedly, he said out loud, "I was always taught mushrooms like that were toxic."

" _They resemble ones which are,_ " Dormin allowed. " _The differences are minute enough to observation and divergent enough in result that perhaps swearing off both is sensible._ "

He halted, gazing with a hard look at the shrine within sight of his camp. Dormin could feel his thoughts stirring, but could not hear any of them directly. "If I wasn't... if I wasn't trapped like this, like _this_ ," he said, gesturing down at his body, "would you have told me to risk it?"

" _It would not have been a risk. The deadly kind groweth not here._ "

He was silent. His pacing resumed.

As the fungus took hold, his paces stumbled, slowed, and finally stopped, but the dizzy sensation did not cause a collapse. He eased into a sit, from which he watched the sea. Looking up, he beheld the sea birds. He watched, hearing their calls, as they wheeled slowly above him, as they passed in front of the eternal sun and behind the hill. Dormin saw his hand raise, pause at his side, then enter his field of vision, fingers spread, closed, wiggled.

The grass below fascinated him. The clouds above, too. He did not invite Dormin into the dream, and since he was not asleep They let him be, but for the first time since his imprisonment, They felt a sense of peace to his thoughts. He even showed teeth in a faint smile.

All this would have been enough. But, to Dormin's surprise, he eventually stood. To Their pleasure, he staggered up the rise to the nearby shrine and dropped against the tablet, where he sat in silence for several minutes. This, too, was a first since his imprisonment. They did not press him, but he was aware They were watching and listening. They eventually heard his quiet voice. "Tell me, Dormin. Do gods dream?"

They gave the question some thought. " _Not as mortals do._ "

He scoffed, but there was no real malice or pain behind it. "That's not an answer."

" _Enough of one it would have been for those before you._ "

He smiled tightly. "But it's me you're stuck with. Answer what I asked."

Dormin regarded him, a small mortal with perfect skin and no lasting stiffness to his joints who had lived at least five times longer than he should have, who did not speak as a mortal should to a deity. He had never offered any prayer of thanks for Their help, had refused most waking conversation for decades. If there had been other mortals, Dormin would have long since dismissed him as unworthy of Their attention. If there had been other mortals, most would surely have been more grateful, more respectful, more reverent than this acerbic man with his aching scars of guilt.

Perhaps, Dormin thought, that was the point.

" _Our answer remaineth: not as mortals do. Perhaps a god who counted dreams within Their domain would answer differently. We do not sleep the way thou doth. Were We a mortal, perhaps We would always sleep, or perhaps We would never sleep. But if thou wouldst count Our desires and hopes dreams, then yes. We do dream._ "

Voice faraway, partly from the fungus and partly from something else within him, he asked, "So what do you... what do You dream about?"

Dormin marked the rare sign of respect in the divine pronoun, but did not call attention to it. " _What any prisoner dreameth. We dream of a time when We are freed._ "

The wanderer tried to laugh. It came out as breaths caught in his throat. Dormin felt his horns against the tablet as he leaned back, the connection letting Them glimpse the dance of colours across his closed eyes. Time passed, marked by his slow breathing. 

"Do you - You know why... why she put me here?"

" _We have guessed_."

"But You don't know." He fell silent and opened his eyes, observing how the fungus crossed his senses, listening to the sights it showed him, watching the sounds.

"...I lied, You know." He gave another weak attempt at a laugh. "I knew - I've seen... seen those mushrooms before. Heh. My elders always said - said they were for holy men, not hunters. I guess any god can see the difference."

Dormin did not respond. As They thought he would, he continued. "Is _that_ why you wanted me to try some? So you could speak to me more easily?"

He had once again dropped into a rude register, but Dormin found They did not truly mind overmuch. " _We told thee already why We made thee aware of it._ "

" ' _New_ and unfor _seen_ sen _sa_ tions,' " he quoted, voice beginning deep, ranging high, and dipping back down again in a rough imitation of Their voices as he perceived them. He finally managed a real laugh: not a loud one, nor a long-lasting one, but a laugh all the same. "Well. It's... it's different, anyway." His mind and voice quieted. Slowly, he uncurled, slouching at ease against the tablet.

Time passed, marked by breathing steady and slow. His attention caught briefly on a lizard scuttling down the shrine. Perhaps at some other time he might have killed and eaten it, but in the fungus' dream he was not hungry, and the shine of its tail held his gaze until it moved out of sight. 

Breathing steady and slow.

He turned his gaze to the nearby cliffs that had once protected the capital. Dormin's sun shone down on them, but even so, they were wreathed in cloud.

His breathing shook a little, and Dormin felt his back tense. He knew They were still listening, and in time, he broke the silence, whispering, "You said you had only guessed why she sent me here." He waited for a reaction, but Dormin gave none in words. "We used to talk more, didn't we? You and I." Dormin could feel tension within rising still further, although he was still slouched against the tablet. "Before she banished me."

" _Before thy will had denied her too many of the children she sought._ "

He dragged himself awkwardly into a more straight-backed sit. "Damn your euphemisms."

" _Very well. Before thou killed too many children before she could._ "

He groaned. Dormin watched as he made an effort to stand before thinking better of it. "What else was there?" He let out a breath that might have been a stressed laugh or might have been a sob. "S-She would have killed them with a lack of water. For servants. For-"

He cut himself off, curling. "...Why my blood. Why did..."

Dormin felt and saw a memory, for his barriers were down: the wanderer held down with a holy warrior looming over him, his voice screaming, his wife screaming, under their terror calm spoken words about purging a demon from the unborn. It was a memory They remembered for Themself through the connection They and the wanderer shared. Four hundred and thirty years later, Dormin still did not have an answer.

Another laugh or sob escaped him, and another, then definitely more of a sob. He gave up on speaking, heart open and letting Dormin know his thoughts. 

_She sent me away from the Castle after I killed Orisi. Not before taking a new daughter. Of course not. But You knew that. It was later. A long time later._

He swallowed. _Do You remember guiding me? Sending me to a village because I asked and You knew there was someone there born with horns?_

Before Dormin could answer, there was another memory of himself. He was looking down a nocked arrow at a lord within a temple lit by torches. He spoke quietly, but with enough anger to stop a heart. "Do you remember his name, holy man? _Do you?!_ "

 _Damn his blood parents. He was **my** son._ Dormin heard him whimper. _He was my son._

He curled further, weeping into his knees, and partially gave up on even using language. Dormin understood most of the story through emotions and through remembered images, sounds, and smells.

A feeling of love for his son, coupled with the thought, _he wasn't my blood but he shared my curse-blessing-horns._

Overcast mornings, sunny ones, rainy ones showing him how to forage, how to prepare food, how to find the lee sides of trees or stones or collapsed buildings to sleep in. Showing him his secrets of how to cook things, snapping that he would slip on a river's stones, softly praising a good stitch as he mended a worn garment.

An early conversation. "I know that castle. And I promise you, Rilu, if I have any power at all, you're never going there."

The young boy, his horns barely visible, staring up at him. "...Never?"

"Not ever. Understand?"

Dormin felt his anguish stabbing through his heart and throat.

The Queen calling, and knowing it was Rilu's birthday. His horns were long. By that night, _I killed him I **murdered** him he died in my arms in the night not knowing what had happened_, the sounds of his son choking on a cut throat, a familiar smell of blood like any other mortal creature.

The sounds of his blood father falling in his own temple with an arrow through his heart.

Running in the darkness, running in the light, sneaking into houses and sleeping up trees while he dreamed and woke and murdered. Half the horned boys of that generation were dead before he misstepped and was set upon by a village's young men. He remembered breaking one of their arms, and he remembered being tackled to one side and landing with his weight on a horn, snapping it clean. He remembered being bound with blood still dripping down his neck, and it was tight enough with enough good rope that even with his strength from Dormin's soul, he could not break free.

And he remembered the Queen's arrival. He remembered paralysis before she even spoke. 

_She spoke words and stopped me_ , he thought. _She spoke words and trapped me here._ His teeth clenched. _I want out._

He mouthed the words, _I want out._

He mouthed the words, _there is no way out,_ and sobbed harder.

_There is no way out - I should have left on my horse and died - we should never have left these lands - we should never have ended up with child where the gods hated us and hated You-_

_I should be dead she should be dead there is no way out-_

Dormin was present. They were present while he wept until exhaustion dragged him into a sleep shielded from his dreams. Underneath the Shrine of Worship, They chipped at the old offering. In its high garden, They examined the crop They were growing, and found it ready.

Some hours later, They were present as he groaned under his breath and woke to his ears ringing, his horns tingling. He lifted his head to see Their manifestation in front of the shrine. For a long while, he did not speak, merely gazing at and through its sparkling light. At length, he sniffed, wiped his nose on his shoulder, and cleared his throat.

"One day or another, you're going to work yourself free."

" _Yes._ "

"And on that day, one day or another, you're going to take your power back from me."

" _Yes._ "

The sigh that followed heaved his shoulders. " 'One day or another' is a long time to wait for. Not just for you and me."

" _...Yes._ "

He remained open enough that when he stretched the awkward sleeping position out of his arms and back, Dormin could feel some of the tension leaving his muscles. Another silence followed, the wanderer gazing at Their manifestation again. Before him the long grasses rustled in the wind; behind him the ocean's crashing came and went in a steady rhythm. 

He lifted a hand, and without standing up, slowly extended it into the manifestation. Dormin could feel he was shaking a little. His hand felt cold to Them, and They knew therefore he felt warmth.

" _Perhaps We have more to show thee_ ," They said. He lowered his hand, and They pulled the manifestation back in. Moments later, They knew his horns itched once more as They found another pinprick in the seal, some distance away.

He was silent for some seconds. When he spoke, it was with a faint smile and a fragile, small lift of his mood. "Hide and seek, is it."


	10. Medicine

Through Their manifestations, Dormin led the lone mortal halfway across Their lands to the Shrine of Worship. Confusion came upon him as he approached the tower. "Here? Why?"

" _What we have prepared groweth atop the Shrine._ " They watched him step up to the westmost stairwell to the altar, where he halted, swaying with indecision and foreboding.

" _The way is opened, wanderer._ "

He grimaced. Dormin saw the familiar shutters close about his heart, and reminded Themself: this was a beginning. Not a middle, nor an ending. Speaking of things which had weighed on him and agreeing to seek out Their manifestations would not heal all or even most of his unseen scars. They let him be, allowing him to on his own time lift a foot and place it upon the first step. There he stood, frozen in the sun, for a dozen of his rapid heartbeats.

The next Dormin knew, he had turned away from the main stairwells and was moving at a jog for the eastern face of the Shrine. They watched as he took hold of some creeping vines: the outer walls of the Shrine of Worship were covered in plant life, seeded from the garden and from the rest of Dormin's land, the life attracted to the core of Their sealed power. With no small confusion, They watched as he began to hoist himself up the crumbling wall, and it dawned on Them that he intended to reach the garden in this manner. " _Wanderer, the way is opened. Wherefore this performance?_ "

He grunted. There were no words in his answer, and perhaps there could not have been. There was merely a sense of defiance, a sense of being challenged. A sense, Dormin thought, of fear and guilt at the altar and of the sixteen piles of enshrined dust before it.

They said no more as he climbed. All his thoughts were focused on the physical challenge, leaving none for his scars, the same way his mind cleared when he was hunting. Even though his heart was not opened all the way to Dormin's sight, it was at least not closed.

After most of his waking hours, he came at last to the stairway to the garden, hauling himself up and rolling to his back to catch his breath. Dormin waited the few minutes it took for the wanderer to rise once more to his feet, his breathing steady. They waited as he stood swaying at the steps, waited as he lurched into an uncertain walk up them, around, and into the Shrine's garden.

To Dormin's reckoning, little had changed since the wanderer had last been within the garden, but They could see by the way he paused at the top of the stairs to take it in that he felt differently. As he stepped off the stone into the grass, They said, " _Dost thou recall the poisonous fruit here?_ "

"Yes." The flat response betrayed little.

" _We have spent some time cultivating its line to create a medicine. Behold this younger tree and its own fruit._ " They directed his attention to the plant with a manifestation; he scratched the base of his right horn as he looked at it. " _We brought thee here, wanderer, for thy dreams._ " 

Dormin gave him some time to respond. He did not. Therefore, They continued. " _We will instruct thee in its preparation._ "

He began swaying his weight back and forth again. "Is it safe?"

" _We are, to be honest with thee, not able to assure thee that it is. Even so prepared, it may still cause an irritation in thy stomach or bowels. Too great a dose may still be a lethal poison. But such is true of any medicine. We do know it will help with thy restless sleep by interrupting the recall of thy dreams. Such was the medicine of the fruit in long ago days: the line ran wild and this virtue became dormant, but We have rekindled it. All it will take now to light it is the hands and tools of a mortal._ "

The wanderer was silent for some minutes, though he did, at length, approach the tree, looking up into it to behold the fruit. "You're really concerned about my dreams, aren't you."

 _In more than the literal sense_ , Dormin thought to Themself only, where the wanderer could not hear. They said nothing, allowing him to contemplate the choice.

They listened to the edges of his thoughts rustling, flowing to one side and the other, weighing possible consequences against probable ones. Eventually, he sighed through his nose, gathered himself up, and leapt up to catch a lower branch, dragging himself into the tree. "What do I need to do?" he asked.

Dormin answered with little language, more showing than telling him of the preparations: how long to boil the pulp and juice to burn away impurities, how to steep certain amounts and strains of grass in it to soak off the remaining poison, and how much to drink without harming himself. He sat straddling the branch as he watched and listened, and for some time after Dormin finished. They saw him shifting his weight again, weighing this outcome against that outcome until with a rock forward he swung an arm out to pick the fruit, jumping to the ground with it in hand.

Dormin let him feel that They were pleased. The wanderer snorted.

When he had finished refining the first dose with Their directions, he sat and gazed into the rough-hewn bowl that held the medicine without saying anything for several minutes. "If I drink this, I won't dream. At all."

" _All mortals dream whenever they slumber, regardless of their recall. This medicine merely interrupteth thy memories. And so it is imperfect._ "

He made an acknowledging sound in his throat, continuing to gaze at the orange liquid. He glanced away from it at motion on the edge of his vision that proved to be a squirrel on its own business. The distraction broke his hesitation enough that he lifted the bowl and took a brief sip, recoiling back with his lips and tongue curled in disgust.

"Dormin, it's worse than the _mushrooms!_ "

Dormin let him hear a quiet laugh, which he greeted with a low growl. But he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and drank again, this time in a long draught to get it over with, sitting back once he was finished. The bowl was loose in his hands as he gazed without focus at the young tree, biting his tongue as the taste worked its way out of his mouth. He blew air across his tongue and rubbed at his throat. "Once a day, you said."

" _Yes._ "

He swallowed some lingering taste of the medicine. "To probably not remember my dreams."

" _To almost certainly not remember them, as long as the medicine is taken before thou sleep._ "

He wiped his mouth on his shoulder, then withdrew a root from his rucksack. There were no more words between them, not while he was awake and not when he leaned on the young tree and lowered his head. Dormin allowed the silence, watching his thoughts as sleep drew in and the gates around his heart sank away. Something over an hour passed, and Dormin saw the beginnings of a dream.

It was typical of his. Blood, regret, and terror flowed through it. But the medicine worked within the wanderer as it had for the mortals of Dormin's land two eternities before him. The dream arrived, passed through his unconscious mind, and left again. Its terror could gain no grip on him; therefore he remained asleep.

He slept for twice as long as a mortal untroubled by frequent nightmares and four times as long as he usually did at a time. When he did awaken, it was only slowly, muddled and disoriented by the feeling. Dormin watched him stretch the stiffness out of his limbs and neck, watched as he leaned back against the tree with a bewildered expression. They allowed him silence to collect himself.

"It... worked."

" _Is it not as We promised?_ "

He slowly shook his head. "I suppose it is."

Dormin allowed him some further silence. Though he said nothing, the garden filled the air with its life. The doves called, the squirrels scolded, and the wind caught the grass and the boughs.

"How long will it keep?"

" _Long enough. The effect stayeth with the medicine for several years; We will warn thee if its potency declineth too much to be of use."_ They paused. _"Perhaps thou should carry seed from here to other parts of the land._ "

"Why me? You said you'd cultivated it."

" _Our power remaineth shackled, wanderer. We can reach this garden to cultivate a seed, and We can reach through the weaknesses of the seal to show thee Our manifestations. But those gaps are not physical, and to move even a mortal seed through them is not possible._ "

"I see." He nodded, once. "Perhaps I should, in that case." He turned his gaze to the garden's entrance. "...That way I won't need to climb up here again."

Dormin regarded him for a short time. " _We remind thee that, indeed, the way is open through the main hall of the Shrine._ "

He brought his knees to his chest and did not offer his thoughts. Dormin left him to them, returning the bulk of Their attention to the seal, sparing a little to chip at the offering below the Shrine as well. Enough time passed that the original conversation was long ended before the wanderer spoke again.

"...Dormin?"

He knew he had Their regard.

"Thank you."

The thanks surprised Them enough that it was a moment before They answered. " _Thou art welcome, wanderer._ "


	11. Barren

After spending threescore hours in the garden refining doses of the medicine and gathering seeds, the wanderer climbed down the side of the Shrine of Worship. It took less time than it had to climb up, and Dormin did not press him about not wanting to leave through the main hallway. 

He returned to ranging around the whole of Dormin's lands, walking the same general path through the seasons he always had, free or imprisoned, chasing food and good weather. He only travelled to the western cape when Dormin told him of the marked children being taken to the Castle. But although his mood still fell whenever he sat at vigil, it was not to the trenches it had reached the last time he had met the Queen. His mood was never cheerful, but Dormin once more beheld a light within his spirit when he was not at the western cape.

They were, in fact, pleased to see him enjoying the manifestations game. He took more detours, looked more closely at small nooks and crannies, even stocked up on supplies to search the harsher parts of the land that he had previously avoided. The hunt for wherever Dormin could manifest gave him a little shock of purpose; finding Them always gave him a small jolt of joy. From time to time he still felt embarrassed by the happiness a game of hide and seek with a deity was giving him, but as the years flowed on, his occasional complaints seemed a mere force of habit, often spoken or thought as he was smiling.

But Dormin always kept some of Their senses pointed toward the Castle in the Mist. They knew this uplifting could not last eternally. And it did not.

It was when he was in the northwestern forest, on the hunt for birds, that Dormin saw the Queen leave the Castle. At the same moment, the wanderer turned away from a deer trail, a tingle in his horns telling him that one of Dormin's manifestations was near. They heard a quiet, amused little chuckle, watched as he holstered his bow to abandon one hunt for another.

They looked outward. The Queen was crossing the ocean through mortal means.

They returned Their senses to the wanderer. He was walking along a creek, following what his horns were telling him, turning when the way they tingled shifted. They watched as he was checked momentarily by the waterfall, turning and tilting his head until the sensation in his horns pointed him upward. They watched as he climbed, a satisfied smile on his face.

Dormin could not bring Themself to interrupt him as the Queen drew closer, as the manifestation rang lightly in his ears, as he came into sight of Them and Dormin knew the Queen had just stepped off her boat. The first the wanderer knew of her presence was when a voice that was not his and was not Dormin's called within his mind.

" _I'm here._ "

He froze.

" _I'm here. Where are you?_ "

He could not speak, and could barely think, confusion and terror lancing wildly around his heart.

" _Come to me, my love._ "

His limbs started to obey, then locked. _Dormin_ , he thought, _Dormin she's here, Dormin why didn't you say anything, she's already here-_

" _Sabae,_ " said the Queen.

He stared at the shining light of Dormin's manifestation, watching it catch motes of forest dust and splashes of falling water, as They answered him. " _We saw how close thou wert. We did not want to interrupt._ "

He sucked air in through clenched teeth.

" _Come to me._ "

The wanderer slowly, slowly lifted his right hand. Reached, shaking, out. The water rippled under his fingers long before he let his cold hand rest in the light of Dormin's manifestation. Every muscle was trembling, compulsion pulling one way, determination pushing the other. _Help me_ , he thought, _help me help me **please help me-**_

" _Sabae? Where are you? Come to me._ "

He held position, and that took every last ounce of his considerable will, the will that had seen sixteen and more slain. His head felt close to bursting, and he retched. _Help me **please** help me no no no no-_

" _Come._ "

His feet slipped, dropping him into the forest creek. Perhaps he might have allowed himself to drown, if only for a temporary delay, but the shock broke his will and his body stood, walking towards the plains, towards the western cape. Another mortal beholding him would have seen only a blank expression, have seen only a horned man walking silently. Dormin, however, could feel how his heart raced, how despair wrapped around him tight as a shroud.

_Please, Dormin, help me!_

_"We have no more power over her than We do over thee, wanderer. We have done everything We can. Had We the power, We would end this."_

He was far enough away from her that he managed to swallow hard. It was the last outward expression of defiance he could manage. His thoughts spiralled down into himself, shame and failure chasing remembered love, dread hammering on his ribs with his heart. Dormin remained with him.

_Why didn't you tell me she was coming, Dormin?_

They did not begrudge him for being unable to heed Their first answer. " _Thou wert already close to Our manifestation when we sensed her departure. And thy mood was happy. We did not want to interrupt before We had to._ "

They were not sure how to interpret his silent response, and suspected he was not, either. But there was an understanding, and a sense of gratitude, that sank out of his consciousness as he drew closer and closer to the cape.

The Queen was waiting when he arrived, smiling softly from a corpse-pale face as he slowed to a stop in front of her. _No more children_ , he thought, _please no more children, no more, no more, no more-_

Dormin felt his will set back against her as she embraced him and his body reciprocated. They felt him screaming as the pair of them met, for all that he was silent, heard unvoiced sobs after as she told him about the children she had claimed as her own and his own, how she would return renewed the next time they met. 

When she left and his will returned to him, he found his voice again and sat weeping into his arms on the beach. Dormin stayed with him, and he did not turn Them away.

* * *

The wanderer's mood, perhaps understandably, collapsed again. He did not leave the area of the western cape for the next several weeks, foraging and hunting barely enough to keep himself from starving, watching the Castle in the Mist and barely speaking. Even as some light came back to his soul, he was loath to leave.

And so it was that he was still there, a season later, when Dormin said, " _Wanderer. She is approaching._ "

He shot to his feet. "Already?"

" _So it appeareth._ "

"But why would..." He shook his head, the rest of him shivering. "Maybe it's nothing."

He did not believe himself, and nor did Dormin, but They did not contradict him. He descended to the beach of his own will, holding any decision he could make as precious. He stood in growing dread as the boat became visible to him, stood to watch it approach and become grounded. He was still as she stepped onto the sand with feet hidden within what he saw as shadows.

Dormin knew he could not see past his terror to know why she had visited, but They had an immediate guess that gave Them a secret sense of grim pleasure. They allowed the wanderer to feel that They were with him, but said nothing as she reached out to touch his unflinching face.

"Dearest. Let's try again." His spine tensed the slight amount it could as he allowed himself to realise the obvious. It had, of occasion, taken multiple tries. She thought nothing of it, while he felt only the same helpless horror he always did.

And so it was, another season later, when she returned a third time. Dormin felt the wanderer's misery as they met and after, only able to offer Their presence as a comfort.

And so it was, too, when she returned a fourth time. It had, once before, taken that many tries. That had been when the Queen was still new to her powers. Dormin wondered if any suspicions had formed within her, but could feel none past the corrupted colours of her magic. Certainly the wanderer had none.

But when she returned a fifth time, both he and she were baffled, though he could not show it and she barely did until she commanded he disrobe. Before they met, she knelt and carefully inspected him. He was unable to even shift his weight in discomfort.

When her inspection was completed, she stood and looked into his blank eyes, searching. "Sabae? Tell me. Have you been injured again?"

He shook his head no, truthfully as far as he knew. The Queen knew he could not lie to her, for she had ordered it long before; even so, she held his gaze with a frown for several minutes before moving forward.

After that fifth visit, his nightmares grew so intrusive they punctured the medicine's effect for several of his attempts at slumber. But in time, his dreams settled enough for the medicine to reestablish itself and allow him to sleep unmolested. As his reasoning returned with the banishment of exhaustion, he found himself standing at the cliffs over the western cape, gazing at the Castle in the Mist with an emotion in his heart he had almost forgotten.

"Dormin?" he asked. They were listening. "Do you think... do you think that body's barren? That - that she can't make any more children?"

" _It would seem something of this kind has happened._ "

He took a shaking breath, hope pounding at his ribs.

* * *

Dormin saw how the wanderer remained at the cape as a week passed, as a month passed, as nine months passed. They watched him awaken from a dreamless sleep, watched as he sat against the graveyard's tree, facing the direction of the Castle in the Mist. They watched as he rose and walked to his spot at the top of the cliff and stared out to sea.

In a soft voice, he said, "Dormin? Can you tell anything?"

Knowing the intent of his words from his thoughts, Dormin looked across the sea for Themself. What They could see was vague, for she had no horns and They could not look upon her for long. But when They could look no more and were forced back into place by the seal, they said, " _The Queen remaineth without a child, son or daughter. Any more We cannot see._ "

The wanderer took a sharp breath, then a slower one. In a rapid motion he turned on his heels and fled the cape, scooping up his rucksack and its supplies without slowing.

Perhaps, Dormin thought, his uplifted mood would be able to last this time. They let him and Their work on the offering below the Shrine of Worship be, resuming Their work on the seal.

Time passed, and the lone mortal in Dormin's land returned once more to his usual routine through the seasons, the fear of what remained of his wife falling at each passing year. He still took the medicine, for when he slackened that habit his nightmares returned to him. Not enough time passed for the cracks in the seal to be widened by any significant amount, and over time all of the places where Dormin could manifest became known to him, but even then, They were pleased to see him continue the seeking game.

The horned children still died, and he still held solemn vigil. But it seemed to both mortal and deity that the time of terror was slowly, inexorably, coming to an end.


	12. Realisation

" _Wanderer. She approacheth._ "

He looked up from where he was idling his time by etching a pattern into a bowl. "...I'll see what she wants." Even though he took his time packing, he was crossing the central plains in the direction of the western cape even before she called, not intending to fight the inevitable summons. _What more can you do to me that matters, after all? I can endure a few more years of this, if you're barren._

Out loud, he said, "Maybe there will still be horned children, but... maybe I can do something about it when she dies. Something kinder. I want to."

Dormin acknowledged him, waiting as the Queen's boat approached the shores of Their land. They beheld as she came into Their sight that her stern expression was doing more to make her look aged than the physical state of her face. The way They could read worry and tight, controlled anger from her face alone as she stepped from the boat to the beach on the western cape made Them ill at ease. It had the same effect on the wanderer as he reached her, despite his earlier confidence.

"Dearest," she said, "we haven't had any children at all. This body is getting older and won't last much longer."

He said nothing. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're _sure_ nothing happened?"

"I am sure." _Nothing I know about, at least. It doesn't surprise me, thinking about it, that after all this time one of our daughters' bodies would have a broken womb._

The two were silent for some time. At length, she approached, appearing from his perspective to glide along the sand. "Take me to your nearest camp."

He did not resist as his body turned and led her up to the cliff over the cape, where they shared a meal. For the rest of their waking hours, little happened. The Queen told her husband news from the outside, or what little she considered of relevance to him. He listened with half of his mind, the other half drifting back to better days before she had died and better days after Dormin had revived her. He thought, too, about better days to come when she was gone again. He could not be joyous, for he missed the person she had been before becoming the Queen all the more keenly as he contemplated those times long past, but he did feel a melancholy anticipation.

She did not command him to lay with her, not even as they prepared for sleeping under an outcropping to shade them from the sun. The wanderer was used to the eternal day and could sleep even under broad sunlight, but the Queen was not and could not.

As part of his preparations, the wanderer naturally poured a dose of his nightmare medicine into the bowl he had hewn for that purpose. The Queen watched him down it in one swift gulp and his brief, involuntary expression of disgust. Dormin marked that she did not seem confused even as she asked, "Sabae, what is that?"

He told her without resistance. "It's for my sleep. Dormin showed me how to make it."

"Did They. Let me see some."

He poured another dose and handed the bowl to her. She had not asked about the dangers, and so he did not warn her. Dormin watched her scrutinise the orange liquid for a long time on a mortal's scales before she handed it back to her husband; he returned it to a waterskin since she had not ordered otherwise.

As usual, Dormin was aware of the edges of his dreams starting even though he would not remember them. And, as usual, They could not read the Queen's thoughts at all.

Their ill ease grew to the point that They lost all concentration on the seal as the two slept.

* * *

When they next woke, and after they shared another meal, the Queen told her husband, "Take me to the Shrine of Worship."

He obeyed, and though he wondered why, he did not bother attempting to ask. The journey took several hours, but she showed no sign of fatigue as she strode up the Shrine's steps, pausing to look back at her husband. He had stopped at the bottom, hesitant to enter even after two centuries trapped in Dormin's land.

She would not allow it, saying, "Come with me." His reluctance had no hope against the command, and side by side they passed the altar and stood under the focal point of Dormin's sealed power.

"Dormin," said the Queen.

" _We hear you._ "

She looked up at the light of Their power for several seconds, evidently gathering herself. "As I think You well know, the Castle in the Mist has a large library from when Your people last controlled it."

They suspected she was telling Them something she knew They knew for either her husband's benefit or else for rhetorical effect. They allowed her to continue without interruption, although They felt a heavy sense of failure curling around Their mind that, for once, was not from Their connection to the lone mortal.

"I have spent the last few years deep in research. At first I looked for why... why I have not been able to mother another child. But I found a certain recipe that aroused my suspicion, Dormin."

Dormin said nothing, not to the Queen and not to the wanderer as he thought, _Dormin? What is she talking about?_

She blinked, slowly, perhaps measuring her words. "I do not want to question Your wisdom. You have been good to Sabae, and there's nowhere else in the world where he's safe from himself and from our enemies. But I must ask Your purpose in having him drink of the poison fruit's juice."

Their voices tired, They said, " _Too great an amount of any medicine is a poison. He explained Our purpose. We saw how his dreams troubled him, and We gave him a remedy._ "

The Queen seemed to take a deep breath, and shook her head. "Dormin. You should have told him its other properties. You should have told him it stops men from being fathers."

The wanderer's thoughts exploded into shocked blankness. Dormin let him be as They thought of how to respond to the Queen.

They had, of course, thought many times of how to respond if she was able to perceive Their plan in the medicine. But looking at the two of them, Dormin found Themself uncertain. They had intended to speak directly to the Queen of Mists of why They had told her husband the lie of omission, but found They were uncertain how it would affect her reactions, to either Dormin Themself or to her husband.

What she said had been true. There truly was not anywhere within the Queen's sphere of power besides Dormin's land which would welcome the wanderer. She had banished him from free rein of the Castle for trying to stop her from taking their daughters' bodies. She had banished him from the lands of Their rivals for trying to stop her from using the marked children's horns to power that spell. Dormin found Themself contemplating Their best guess at her thinking: the last place she could possibly banish him to if she saw even Their land as unsafe. All They could think of would be to chain him in a cell. And she would think it for his own good. They found the thought torturous to contemplate.

Into Their silence, the Queen spoke again. "I'm sure it was merely an oversight. I know that You are very wise, Dormin, but - forgive me - You have said before that You are not all-seeing."

If They had been corporeal, it might have been difficult for Dormin to conceal a long, resigned sigh. As it was, They merely answered, " _This is true._ "

"Will You tell me how long it will be until he's better, if he stops taking it?"

Dormin turned Their attention briefly to the wanderer. His thoughts were only barely beginning to come out of shocked paralysis. Many actions and conversations were suddenly bathed in new light, and he as yet had nothing to contribute to the discussion. 

They knew that if They did not answer, the Queen would simply lay with him until the contraceptive effect wore off, and that she would probably give him a permanent edict to stop taking the medicine besides. To spare him what suffering They could, They said, " _Two weeks. However, We ask you to allow him to continue taking it after ye produce another child. His nightmares doth trouble him severely; this medicine is the only thing which has helped._ "

The Queen smiled. There was no malice in it, which made it more disturbing. "Thank You, Dormin. Yes, that's reasonable." To her husband, she said, "We'll do as Dormin says. Stop taking the medicine for now, so I can stay with you."

As his gaze remained fixed on the light of Their power, Dormin thought that he looked, even more than he normally did, like a very small creature. Though his heart was open to Them, he still could not muster any coherent thoughts. They felt his growing understanding that melded into gratitude, and beside it, They felt how a familiar, lonely despair took root within him once again.

For his knowledge alone, They said, " _We are sorry, wanderer._ "

The Queen began to walk away. He thought, where she could not hear, _This is never, ever going to end, is it?_

"Sabae, come. Let's make a camp at the base of the Shrine."

His body turned to follow her as Dormin answered, " _One day or another, it will._ "

They felt how he wanted, very desperately, to curl his head to his knees and sit very still somewhere. Instead, he followed the Queen out of the Shrine of Worship, and at its base dug a firepit while she watched.

While the two ate, Dormin turned Their attention below the Shrine. They had continued Their project there after the success of the fruit, yes, but at a slower pace. They could see it was still some years from being completed, and so They reached out and chipped at the iron until the two mortals settled down for sleep. As the wanderer lay on his back, the Queen's arm over him and shadows enveloping his sight, Dormin spoke, again to him alone. " _We offer to aid thee in thy dreams. We are unpracticed, but this can change with time._ "

The answering thought was bleak and listless in tone. _Then she might think I don't really need that medicine at all. I'll endure it._

Neither communicated anything for a few minutes. Eventually, the wanderer thought, _Why didn't you do this sooner?_

" _Even one such as Ourselves, who can reclaim lost souls, can feel that mortal matters are for mortals, most of the time._ " In contrast to when They spoke with the Queen, the next thing They said came easily. " _We think now that We were wrong, at least about thy wife and the horned children._ "

 _Yes. You were._ Even as blunt as the thought was, however, there was little censure in it. He closed his eyes. _Even so... thank you. It's a shame it didn't work. But thank you for trying._

_I think it's the most anyone has._


	13. History

Without the contraceptive effect of the medicine, the Queen of course bore another daughter. So precious was she, with the Queen's current body aged so, that she did not allow the wanderer anywhere near her. A brief visit to show him the infant and to announce her name was all he was either cursed or blessed with.

Although Dormin's delaying tactics had ultimately failed at their original purpose, and although they had done nothing to affect the horned boys' numbers, what they _had_ affected was the wanderer's attitude. He began to spend more time near Their shrines, eventually coming to sleep within them more often than not. He felt easier about speaking through thought alone, letting Them see into his heart with few or no barriers. He still continued to speak to Them in a rude register, but there was an unspoken trust in his heart that Dormin had only seen briefly before, five centuries previously when he and his wife had left to seek a home amongst other mortals.

Dormin had spent an eternity with no followers, then a few short decades with two. They had wondered before if the Queen counted, she who had been corrupted beyond saving by a spell's backlash. They had wondered for a long time if the nameless wanderer counted, he who was bound to life by Their soul and to his wife with his blood. But as his imprisonment had seen his acidic outlook slowly settle, this newfound closeness made Dormin think that if he had not been Their follower before the Queen saw through Their deception, he had become so.

And as he was Their follower, he heeded Them as They spoke, though the tidings They brought were unwelcome. " _Wanderer._ "

_Yes?_

" _There is a boy._ "

He sighed. _All right._

He did not have far to walk, for he was at the shrine at the western cape. As he sat at the edge of the outcropping near the graveyard to begin another lonely vigil, Dormin watched with him, through him, past him as the child was left to die. Both suspected the Queen would complete her ritual soon, for the sacrificial chamber was close to being filled. Perhaps in threescore or fourscore hours, when this newest addition to the Castle in the Mist was reduced to a dehydrated corpse and a trapped spirit.

The vigil had barely begun when Dormin sensed an earthquake, its epicentre near the Castle's island. They let the wanderer perceive it coming, and he braced himself with one hand on the ground until it stilled. It did not cause him any particular concern; over his long life, earthquakes had become an infrequent inevitability. _It must be terrifying for the boy, though. I wonder if he's ever been through a quake before._

He had no way of knowing and knew that Dormin did not, either, so he sighed and draped his arm loosely back over his knee. He could tell Dormin was listening without saying anything, and he could tell when Dormin turned Their attention back on the Castle across the sea.

A few minutes later, he could tell that Dormin was puzzled, and he straightened his back. "Dormin? What is it?"

Without words, Dormin let him see what They could sense. Once he realised what it meant, he shot to his feet and stared across the sea.

The light of the boy's horns was moving.

After some minutes of stunned silence, watching the horns move through what Dormin could show him, the wanderer said, "Why isn't she doing anything?"

" _Perhaps she cannot. Already there is nearly enough of Our power there to perform a miracle, and she has never been older of body. It may be that she is saving her strength for the ritual._ "

He turned and began pacing up and down the length of the cliff. "The earthquake - it must have damaged the sarcophagus. Enough that he escaped. I should help him - no I shouldn't." He drew a shaky breath and crossed his arms as he walked. Dormin agreed without saying anything. Even if he could have resisted his wife's orders for long enough to make the swim to the Castle, her presence and his curse would make him worse than useless for the boy. 

They allowed him to pace for some time, watching how the light of the boy's horns moved through the castle. Something about his movements - a sudden stop, a long climb upward, followed by just as suddenly turning and running downward - captured Their curiosity. As They had so many times before, Dormin pressed against the seal to stretch some of Their sight past it, squinting across the ocean and through the little horns on the other side. For the first time, they beheld something other than the inside of a sarcophagus, felt something besides fear and agony. What They saw made them hold the connection until the force of the seal shoved Them back into place.

The sensation was deeply unpleasant, but as it began to clear, They said, " _Wanderer. He doth not travel alone._ "

Their follower stopped his pacing, frowning in the direction of the Shrine of Worship. "Who else would..." Slowly his gaze was drawn back across the sea.

" _Yes. Yorda your daughter is with him._ "

Their follower stared, mouth closed and eyes wide. He blinked for a little too long, shivering. "Maybe they can..." he trailed off, falling to thought instead of speech. _Maybe they can escape. In the other direction. To the mainland._

Another shiver ran down his spine and he turned sharply, resuming his restless pacing. _But then what? She'll find them. She always finds them._ He remembered running with Tuin, remembered holding him in shared terror as the Queen sought them out, remembered carrying him against his own will to the chamber and shackling him into a sarcophagus, hearing his son's last betrayed cries.

He remembered mustering all of his will to tackle Orisi off the edge of the mine rails into the sea, where both had drowned. He remembered coming back to his senses alongside her body near the Castle's docks, looking up at the Queen. He remembered being sent away three months later, her next daughter having started to show.

He remembered cutting Rilu's throat in the darkness of a thicket below the moon, remembered cutting Jindal's throat in the light of Dormin's endless day, and he remembered holding each of them as they struggled, remembered listening to their last breaths lost to blood-choked gargling. He had stopped pacing to stare at the Castle in the Mist, not quite seeing it even though the mist was down. 

Breath shaking, he whispered, "I don't want to..." He swallowed. Dormin knew his unspoken thought. _But I will if I have to. If they come this way, I'll kill her first._

As had become common, Dormin could offer him no comfort besides the knowledge of Their presence. At length, he resumed pacing as his daughter and the horned boy explored the Castle, Dormin observing only how the light of the boy's horns moved; They felt no need to look closer for the moment. Midmorning as the wanderer defined it, Dormin felt a surge of light magic that They let Their follower feel, too. He stopped to stare, knowing what it meant.

_They're going for the gates._

" _So it appeareth_."

_They're going for the mainland. If they get the bridge working I won't be able to come anywhere near them._

His head moved slowly from one side to the other and back, too slowly to truly be shaking it. It was more like he was scanning the horizon. _Maybe that will work out after all. She's weak. Or she'd have done something by now._

Dormin could tell he did not truly believe that, for They could sense how his anxiety only sharpened, could see how his footsteps only quickened as he turned and resumed pacing. But the fragile wings of hope beat within his chest, and They left him to it.

Late afternoon as he defined it, he stopped once more as, visible even from the shores of Dormin's land, the two halves of the bridge between the Castle in the Mist and the mainland began to extend. For several seconds he was motionless; then he began laughing, almost hysterical. "They did it! They did it, Dormin!"

Saying nothing at first, Dormin gathered Themself and pushed to see through the boy's horns again. They saw... They _felt_ a warm hand, felt slow movement, felt worry and fear. They felt a jolt as the mainland's bridge began retracting, and saw the boy look around as Yorda lost grip on him, felt no hesitation as he turned and leaped, catching her hand and losing grip on the battered sword he had been holding in the other.

Seeing the Queen's magic shroud as it enveloped her daughter, even through a mortal's eyes that could see only shadow, destroyed Their concentration so completely that They were forced by the seal to pull back. It took them a few seconds to realise Their follower was speaking to Them.

"Dormin? I - I can see the bridge retracting from here, did-? Which side are they on?"

Dormin's senses were still realigning themselves, so without words, They allowed him to sense what They had seen through the boy's horns. Further, They allowed him to sense as They did how the glow marking his position plummeted from the bridge, and They allowed him to sense the Queen's cacophony of colours travelling through magic places from the gates to the sacrificial chamber.

The wanderer sank to a kneel. He pressed a hand to his forehead.

_She **was** saving her strength. She was waiting to strike._

He lifted his head, sniffing. _...At least he tried._ His eyes closed into a pained snarl. _They both tried._

All at once he stood, retreating away from the cliff. Dormin watched as he walked back to the shrine on the western cape and sank down against the tablet. They let him feel some of the warmth of Their power; he lost control and wept into one hand. His thoughts were a muddle of emotions that banished words, settling as his weeping slowed into a bleak, hopeless stillness. He sat there with that blankness until it was late evening by his own reckoning. As always, it was bright and sunny. 

"I wish we knew his name," he croaked.

Something irregular on the edge of Dormin's awareness pulled Their attention across the sea. The wanderer lifted his head to look in that direction, not seeing anything. 

" _He lives._ "

Their follower sighed and let his head drop to his knees. _Not for long._

Dormin found They could not disagree. With the way the Queen's power had been encroaching on Yorda, both They and the wanderer knew she was beginning the ritual. It would take longer than normal without the last boy's horns, but it would be completed. Once the Queen was again to her full power with a new body, even one as young as twelve years of age, it would take little work to re-imprison the boy, to make him another of her servants.

Even so, looking away and abandoning him to an unseen if not unknown fate would have broken the strange vigil, and so Dormin continued to watch the light of the boy's horns. He was moving along the underside of the Castle, where before the Queen and before the Colossi heretics and the demoniacally possessed had been left in cages as sacrifices. That area of the Castle had always been a miserable place, Dormin thought. Ages-old regret stole into Their awareness, for once from within Themself and not from Their strange follower.

But as easily as it came, it was dismissed. They had made it right, as much as They could have, and paying attention to the light of the boy's horns was more vital than brooding over ancient history, even if They could do just as little to affect his fate as They could to affect the past. They watched as he moved along the underside of the castle, along the hanging cages, and into the outside of the central lift. Eventually, They said, " _He hath gained the docks._ "

The wanderer did not react verbally or physically. _And? She'll chase after him. As in the old days._

" _He..._ " Another irregularity of power drew Their attention. Taking the shortest look They could, Dormin squinted through the boy's horns once more, and even They were surprised. " _He hath taken the Castle's sword._ "

Their follower straightened, so suddenly that he hit his head on the tablet. As he rubbed it, Dormin continued. " _He re-entereth the castle._ "

His eyes widened as he staggered to his feet, stiff.

" _He is in the elevator. He traveleth to the sarcophagi chamber._ "

Dormin could feel how Their follower's mind and heart raced, knew that although he was again facing the Castle, he did not see it. He remembered the Queen becoming pregnant with who would become Yuzo, and he remembered the first time he had tried premeditated violence rather than desperate attempts at self-defence to stop her. He had taken the sword that had pierced his undying heart, the sword that had pinned him to her, the sword that had warped part of Dormin's soul within him into the Queen's madness and power, and he had stalked into the throne room.

Her voice had stopped him, of course. But the boy was under no such compulsion. Nothing yet bound him to her, for he was alive.

The wanderer shook his head. Hope, real hope, had darted from his grasp as agile as a bird for so long that he had learned not to even try to grip it, even when it appeared its wing was broken. "She already started the ritual," he said. "She'll be in a new body. He can't-"

Dormin cut his downward spiral off. " _The ritual is not complete. If there wert any time to strike, it would be now._ "

The sound that came out of him was not quite a laugh. He broke from the top of the cape and ran to the cliff, his weight shifting as he peered across the sea. Dormin let him see what They could. From the way the light of the boy's horns moved hither and yon, They had a guess of what he was up to. Leaning against the seal confirmed it, for They could feel the trapped souls of the latest gathering of horned boys being disrupted.

" _It is not enough to free them,_ " Dormin said to the wanderer's hope. " _But it is enough that they will not harry him. Were they alive perhaps they would be knocked unconscious._ " They drew away from the seal again, releasing the pressure. " _Presently the way to the throne room is open_."

They felt a surge in the Queen's magic, and could not hear what she and the boy said to one another. There was another, stronger surge, followed by a sharp, brief dazzling of Their sight.

"What was that?!" Even as he asked it, the wanderer knew instinctively what it had meant, for he threw a hand against the side of his head, fingers splayed as if to cradle an injured horn.

" _We think she attacked him. One of his horns is injured or perhaps severed: its remains glow but not enough to see clearly by._ " 

The wanderer winced.

" _The other is intact, but Our vision is reduced because of it._ " Even as They said that, however, Dormin felt the sword strike home on a magical barrier. The wanderer, They knew, had no real sense for magic, so They fell back again on using understanding instead of words. The sword's magic dispelled some of the Queen's own but was knocked aside. Dormin could feel - unpleasantly - how the Queen countered with a spell that drew all vitality from the air. The wanderer stopped breathing for a moment himself, letting the breath out again as he knew, because Dormin did, that the boy lived.

Again and again, They and he felt the sword strike the barrier. The spaces between each strike grew longer and longer. The wanderer held his breath again after a strike that Dormin thought - but was not certain - had dispelled the Queen's barrier. 

He let it out again in a scream as the sword hit home, collapsing with a hand over his heart. The agony of it banished all other thought until he lost consciousness. Dormin barely had any time to react before an explosion of magic threw the boy and snapped his other horn, denying Dormin any further insight. At least at first.

They strained against the seal to see what was happening, Their vision adjusting to the dying ember that was the boy's horns. They could no longer sense the Queen's soul. She had sustained the Castle in the Mist, pinned as much to it by the sword as the wanderer's soul had been pinned to hers. The explosion had to have killed her, and with her death, the Castle was now collapsing, the ages of disrepair catching up to it within minutes.

But...

...if they looked... just a short distance away...

...the souls in the sarcophagi, and the magic using them, still... needed...

...an outlet...

Straining harder against the seal, Dormin felt the magic spark wildly and spiral in on the wanderer's daughter. They held position and could feel...

...could feel...

...the ember... 

...moving.

Not of his own will, no. As the Castle, old hateful thing that it was, collapsed around her with the Queen's death, Yorda carried the boy to the docks. Dormin felt the ember of his broken horns drift into the sea.

The seal's pressure was growing the longer They pushed against it, and They threw more of Their spiritual weight into it, driven by a need to sense the history that was happening.

The spirits of the generations of horned boys would not be freed. That much They could sense, that much They _knew_ as a god of death. Their souls were too tightly bound to the stone of the Castle and the soil under it with Dormin's own borrowed, twisted power. They had no knowledge of the way to escape, the gods of the surrounding lands would not grant it to them, and Dormin's power was - as the seal was reminding Them - too tightly bound to show them.

They were also too tightly bound to sense the Queen's soul at all, but pondering it briefly, they came to the educated guess that the explosion of the sword's magic which had broken the boy's second horn had dispelled her soul violently from the mortal realm. It reminded Them of the fact that she was dead, and that meant, of course, that the wanderer was free, at least of that chain. The sheer arresting power of the thought almost made them stop pressing against the seal.

But no: They focused, pressing harder as the seal's pressure continued to mount. The boy with shattered horns was drifting toward Their land, alive. As for the girl...

As for the girl, Dormin had to stretch Their hobbled power still further, straining harder against the seal than They ever had. They knew the seal would hold and They could not escape, but pushing that far, They could sense that her soul was not bound to the Castle, not like the soul of her mother had been and not like the souls of the horned children still were. Besides that, her body was still alive. The magic would wear off.

It would wear off, and she would drown, or she would be crushed.

As loudly as They could, as focused as They could be on Yorda's distant soul, they called, " _ **This way!**_ "

Calling for her broke enough of Their focus that the seal finally succeeded in reasserting itself against Their power. The force of the backlash, being equal in ferocity to Their efforts to strain against the seal, made even Dormin experience a gap in Their consciousness.


	14. Heal

Coming back to awareness left Dormin with an unpleasant, disconcerted feeling. There were only a few times They could remember having been truly unconscious. They recalled the last time, when the Ancient Sword's spell had been laid down upon Them and trapped Them anew; when They had come to Their senses to Mono feeding the wanderer in the Shrine of Worship's garden, loyal Agro keeping watch with a sprained hindleg. It felt as if it had been a long time since They had thought of those names. Which was strange, for it had only been about five centuries before.

They looked for the wanderer first, finding him still unconscious at the top of the cape. Knowing he would awaken on his own time, They then looked for and found the children.

Yorda was sitting up with her legs out to one side, watching the boy stumbling under the weight of a watermelon and what Dormin suspected was a result of the two blows to his head. He brought the fruit to the edge of the sea and dropped down beside her, then picked up a triangular rock - one of the wanderer's old discards - and used it to split the melon, then carve it further and offer a piece to his companion. She set it on the sand, evidently not hungry, and watched as he carved another piece for himself and began eating.

To Dormin's senses, the boy's shattered horns were little but a weak ember, but Yorda looked almost dull next to it. She carried within her the blood of her father and mother, but with the fall of the Castle in the Mist she was an ordinary mortal. 

And yet, how extraordinary even that was.

Dormin considered looking within the two of them to know their thoughts in more detail and to find out the boy's name. But, They thought of Their interactions with Their follower, and decided to settle for the bare minimum They sensed simply by being what They were, the bare minimum needed to understand their speech or prayers. They relied, therefore, on looking at their expressions and sensing the emotions and thoughts that were right on the surfaces of their minds. From Yorda's expression, the raw, exposed marrow of the boy's horns worried her. From the boy's surface emotions, he was nearing exhaustion but was buoyed up by the joy of seeing his friend again and from finding something to eat.

Presently, the wanderer groaned; Dormin felt him shivering as he woke. "What happened?" he slurred.

" _Doth thy memory fail thee?_ "

He groaned again, that time half at Dormin and half at the ache that consumed his whole body. He rose to a kneel and rubbed his brow. "I don't know. What..." He lowered his hand to the grass, squinting in the direction of the Shrine of Worship. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder; slowly he stood, turning. He shook his head as he stared across the sea in disbelief.

"She's gone," he whispered.

Emotions flowed through him as a confused flood. Unburdened of a curse he had lived with for five centuries, he was relieved beyond measure. Having lost someone he loved, he was heartbroken, which he felt guilty and confused about, for both he and the world had been freed of a great evil. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth.

_She's gone._

_Oh, Mono. You're gone. You've been gone a long time, but - you're **gone.**_

It had been a very long time on his own scales since he had thought of that name. Dormin came to the delayed realisation that, even while he was unconscious and dreamless, his perception of time had affected Theirs. 

_...Did You feel that?_

" _Not as thou did. But yes._ " Here They paused. " _We could not reach her this time, wanderer._ "

His shoulders sagged as he opened his eyes. _I know. Because You're sealed._ He turned somewhat to look at the Shrine of Worship again. _Did You move her on, at least?_

" _She died too far away, and with too much magic. It will take several mortal generations before her soul returneth to a form that can inhabit a mortal body again._ "

One corner of his mouth twitched up. _Then I might be alive to see it, mightn't I._

" _Perhaps. For now, however..._ "

They left the thought hanging. He blinked, then turned sharply around, finally regaining enough focus on the present to know that he could sense other people in Dormin's land. He crept with hesitation to the edge of the cliff, where he beheld the two children sitting at the water's edge. Yorda still had not touched her piece of melon, though the boy had started on a third piece of his own. For a long time, the wanderer only watched them. Conflicting feelings stirred within his heart, and Dormin did not interrupt.

Eventually, he thought, _They have to get away from here. Anywhere. This isn't a place to grow up._ He cringed back from the edge of the cliff. _But then again, that's what Mono and I thought. Maybe they **should** stay here... they can't live where people hate those horns. Even broken off ones._

The boy continued eating his melon, finishing a piece and lightly smiling at Yorda. Dormin marked that turning his head to do so made him dizzy, that turning again to his share of the fruit made it worse, but no complaint passed through his surface emotions or mouth. Yorda was still watching with a worried frown.

_...I should call to them._

Minutes passed, in which the wanderer acted not upon this thought. At length, Dormin prompted him. " _Then do so._ "

His teeth clenched, and They felt his emotions churning. _How can **I** call to them? How am I supposed to take care of them?_ He snapped to his feet and stalked away from the cliff, folding his arms as if they could drive away the ice creeping into his heart. _It's my fault they're here._ His mind's eye replayed the deaths of his and strangers' children to him. _I'm evil._ His mind's heart added memories of his impotent anger and despair. _I'm worthless. And one of these days I'm going to kill them._ He jolted to a stop, staring at the Shrine of Worship. _I'm going to kill them, Dormin!_

Dormin had not expected this, exactly. But nor did it surprise Them. They let his violent memories subside a little, and asked, " _Doth thou will thus?_ "

A shiver ran down his spine. "No," he said. His voice shook with his body, but it was full of quiet conviction. "No, I don't."

" _And thou knowest the Queen no longer compeleth thee._ "

He swallowed.

" _And, thou knowest a boy and girl doomed to die will not have the first idea of how to make their own ways in the world._ "

He bent forward, eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched to the point of strain. But there was no nausea. He drew a sharp breath and straightened, turning back to the cliff. _...Until they know how, then._

It was, Dormin thought, a beginning.

They watched as he strode forward, fully upright, and cast a horned shadow over the children. Yorda shifted enough to look over her shoulder at him, distracted from worry at her friend's injuries by an innocent curiosity; the boy whipped his head around and felt dizzying pain. All the same, he stood, putting himself between Yorda and Dormin's lonely follower. It was a few moments before the wanderer called.

"Follow me. There's a way up, over here."

He had spoken, of course, in his own language. Yorda rose and offered her hand to the boy, who glanced from her hand up to the wanderer and back. He gripped it with some hesitation and let her place his arm around her shoulders, leaning on her as they made a slow walk towards the path. 

" _He understood thee not._ "

The wanderer frowned, but his expression cleared after a moment. _I guess that doesn't surprise me. Even if he's from around the same place I was, and I can't tell if he is or not from here, it's been... how long has it been? Over five hundred years?_

" _It hath_." They paused. " _We can make it so ye understand one another. At least in these lands and because of thine own horns._ "

 _...I suppose you can, can't you._ His thoughts retreated away from the surface for some minutes, which Dormin allowed without looking closer. _...Very well._ He shifted his weight to a more comfortable standing position and waited as the children made their careful way up the winding path.

The boy had to stop to rest several times, but Dormin could feel his quiet, small determination to survive and protect Yorda. And from her, They could feel her equal determination to protect her friend. It was not the same, but the companionship drew Their focus to the past, long enough for a mortal if not long for a god. In turn, it drew some of Their focus to the project under the Shrine of Worship.

They supposed Their follower would not be needing it as urgently now. All the same, as the wanderer waited and the children walked, Dormin reached out to chip carefully away at it, for the thought also occurred to Them that They were close to being finished, and that once the greater world learned even a little of what had happened over the last score of hours, he might still need it. They stopped when They sensed the ember of the boy's horns halting. The two children looked up at the wanderer, Yorda tilting her head, the boy squinting partially through beaten-in suspicion, but mostly through the way his head swam under the painful, exposed marrow of his horns.

Eventually, the boy said, "You're a grownup."

The wanderer's expression remained blank as he answered in the boy's language. "I am."

The boy swayed slightly, then stood straighter, his arm still around Yorda's shoulders. "Did - did you escape, too?" It was a completely reasonable supposition. 

Dormin's follower regarded him, his expression not changing. After some time, he decided not to answer, looking across the sea to change the subject. The children followed his gaze, and the little boy jolted in shock. Yorda was less surprised, though Dormin could still feel her confusion. She had known the Castle was falling. She had known her mother's spell was not reversible. Something about the way she remembered Their voices told Dormin that the whole period of time between her mother capturing her and when she woke up with her friend looking down at her in relieved shock had passed as if in a strange dream.

In a quiet voice, the wanderer said, "I saw the Castle fall from here."

The boy looked up at him. The half-truth supported his theory, at least for the moment.

"Do you know what became of the Queen?" the wanderer asked, not looking away from the ruins.

The boy's shoulders hunched, and he too looked once more across the sea. "I... think I killed her."

The wanderer closed his eyes, which the boy took as a sign of relief. Again, it was not untrue, although his reason for it was much different than it would have been had he truly been a horned boy who had escaped his fate in the Castle to grow alone into a man.

Encouraged all the same, the boy added, "I found that sword they used to get into the tower."

He received no response for a long time. Dormin could sense that he was on the edge of asking if something was wrong when the wanderer turned away from the cliff. "I have a camp not far from here," he said. "Both of you must be hungry."

He was already walking, not looking at the children. After a confused moment, they followed. At the camp, the wanderer passed out dried meat and roots cooked after his own long-practised recipes. The children thanked him in their respective languages, the boy with some wariness in his voice and motions and Yorda with none. The wanderer settled back and ate a little, as well. His uncertainty of how to speak with them after centuries without practice and his fear of his own grimmer thoughts notwithstanding, he had not eaten in over twenty hours, and he felt no nausea at sharing a meal with them.

The boy finished his portion first, looking uncertainly at the wanderer, who looked back.

"What?" he eventually said, his flat voice making the boy flinch a little, in turn causing a spike of guilt in his heart.

"Can I... that is, would it be all right if I had some more?"

He nodded. _Of course it is._ Dormin felt a smolder of anger deep in his stomach. _I know how boys like you are treated._ He said nothing, however, simply retrieving and handing him another, smaller helping of deer jerky. Then he looked at his daughter, seeing that she, too, was almost done with her portion. He took a deep breath and asked, in the language they shared, "Would you like some more, too?"

Yorda nodded. "Yes, please."

As he handed it over, the boy rubbed at his temple, a confused frown giving way to understanding. "Oh... so that was Yorda's language you were speaking. Um, before."

The wanderer nodded. He met the boy's expectant look with a stare. Accepting with a shrug that he wasn't going to get an explanation, the boy said, "I guess you can translate between us." The wanderer repeated this in his and Yorda's language; she smiled.

The three of them ate in silence for a short time. After finishing his meal, the boy sat and contemplated the wanderer. At length, he managed a brave little smile. "So what's your name? I'm Ico, and she's Yorda." He rubbed his temple again. "I mean, I guess I said that, but..." He suppressed a groan, focusing on the adult. Yorda, guessing correctly what he had asked, looked to Dormin's follower as well.

For his part, he glanced between the two children and said nothing. Ico's expression slowly fell as the adult looked away; realising something, he scrambled to his feet, half-dragging Yorda up with him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, but Ico spoke over her, stepping between her and the adult.

"You're the Horned Wanderer!"

The wanderer nodded, expression blank. _Good,_ he thought. _You **should** hate me._

Dormin let Their follower know the feeling of a sigh from Them, which he ignored as Ico yelled, "What do you want?!"

"The two of you don't know the first thing about surviving out here, do you."

Ico backed away, forcing Yorda to back up with him. "Leave us alone!" he blurted.

"I will, once you can take care of yourselves."

Ico clenched his teeth, then turned and fled with his hand still linked to Yorda's, dragging her with him. The wanderer watched them vanish into the canyon, but he and Dormin could feel their presence still. He dragged himself to his feet to follow them at a walk. With Ico's injuries, he knew they would not get far.

" _Wanderer_."

_What._

Dormin considered for a few moments how best to give Their advice. They decided to talk around it at first. " _Thy pace revealeth thee to be hunting. Let them know thy presence._ "

Their follower heeded Their words, letting his feet drag a little as he walked.

" _And wanderer._ "

He was listening.

" _Heed their fear. And heed thine own, but not unto distraction._ "

That made him stop for a few seconds, twisting to look in the direction of the Shrine of Worship. His heart closed off a little for those few seconds, Dormin able to feel his thoughts churning. However, the shutters opened again as he began to walk once more.

_You can and will heal him, right? I'm worried about infection and anything internal._

And so the wanderer was talking around it, as well. Dormin allowed it for the moment. " _We will. As We healed thee from behind the sturdier seal of the Colossi, We can heal him from behind this pocked seal of the Ancient Sword._ "

Dormin heard his relieved sigh as he kept walking, and They kept Their silence. It was indeed no great span of time before he caught up to the children, for Ico had collapsed, half curled, against the canyon wall. His teeth were clenched against any whimpering, his breathing coming in pained, shallow hisses. Yorda was knelt in front of him, holding his hand with renewed worry and a new sense of helplessness. She was an ordinary mortal, and without her mother's connection to the Castle in the Mist, she could not heal him.

She looked over her shoulder at the wanderer's quiet but no longer silent footsteps; belatedly, Ico opened his eyes. The children stared up at the wanderer, who gazed back.

Yorda broke the stalemate, standing up to take a pace forward. Ico straightened a little, but had not the strength left to do more, in spite of his fear for her. 

"Why did Ico run?" she asked.

The wanderer took a deep breath. "Because he's afraid of me. I'm your father, Yorda."

She flinched, her eyes widening. The wanderer swallowed.

"I... don't know quite what M- your mother would have said about me, but..." He took another deep breath. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I told Ico I would care for the two of you until you can survive on your own."

She looked over her shoulder at Ico, who was flicking his gaze rapidly between her and her father.

"Let me see him."

Yorda turned back to him, taking a hopeful step forward. "Can you heal him?"

He shook his head. "No. But our god can."

She thought about that for a moment, nodded to herself, and stood aside. Ico cringed further back into the rock wall as the wanderer approached, stiff as he ran his fingers gently down his side, feeling how he suppressed a flinch as his ribs were touched. The wanderer pursed his lips, then said, in Ico's language, "We need to get you to a shrine." 

Without, initially, any other explanation, he moved to pick Ico up. The boy yelped and struggled, getting a sharp "Hold still!" from worry that came out angrier than intended. Ico heeded the command, staring with terrified eyes up at the wanderer, who met his gaze for some seconds before looking away, exhaling forcefully.

 _It's been too long,_ he thought, _I don't know how to talk to people, I don't know how to comfort a frightened child, I don't-_

But he gathered himself and pulled out of the spiral, drawing and releasing a slow breath so he could start again. "Ico. You're badly hurt. All right? You're hurt."

Ico said nothing and kept staring.

"I was telling Yorda that I can't heal you, but our... well, Dormin can."

That Ico did react to, with a very quiet whimper at the back of his throat. The wanderer closed his eyes for a moment. _Of course he'd be frightened of both of us._ He opened them again. "I'm going to carry you to the nearest shrine; it's easier for them to reach there. All right?"

Dormin felt Ico's slight confusion at the informal way Their follower spoke of his patron deity and was, for a brief moment, amused despite the serious drama playing out between the mortals. Ico swallowed and looked away, trying and failing to suppress another whimper. He nodded, more accepting that whatever the adult wanted was going to happen than acquiescing. He flinched in pain despite how carefully he was lifted, but did not struggle.

As he began walking back along the canyon, the wanderer said, in Yorda's language, "Come along. We're going to a shrine to let Dormin heal him."

Yorda caught up and fell into step beside him, although given that his legs were longer and his pace was brisk, she periodically had to jog for a few steps to keep up with him. He gave her a vaguely apologetic glance the first time he noticed, but for his worry, he did not slow. There were questions in her heart, some he could answer and some he could not, but the fast pace and her own worry for her friend kept her silent.

The journey was not long, but Ico was so exhausted and injured that he managed to fall into a light doze by the time the little party reached the shrine at the western cape. He woke up in a haze to the wanderer's voice, though he did not understand the words. "Here he is."

There was no resistance as he was sat down against the tablet. Dormin took a closer look at the boy, seeing now the finer fractures and bleeding, sensing the life of rot already beginning to take hold within his exposed marrow. They said, to Their follower alone, " _Thou knowest We have little fine control: We can only heal everything. He will not thank Us for restoring his horns, for they are as much a part of him as his ribs._ "

Their follower sighed. "I know. But it's that or he..." he trailed off, looking at Yorda. He stood straighter and crossed his arms. "Just _heal him,_ " he ordered, making Yorda blink and Ico look up uncertainly. Even if he could not understand the language, the force he had put into those words set him ill at ease.

For Their part, Dormin was too used to him to scold, far too used to him to register how rude he was being. They stretched some power through Their shrine and into little Ico. They were a god of death: they banished the rot from his horns and from a scrape on his knee. And They were a god of life: they soothed away Ico's bruises and bleeding, internal and external, and They mended his bones. As much a part of his skeleton as the rest of his skull, his horns sealed over to small tips with the healing. Unlike with the wanderer's shining horns, Dormin's power did not make them grow out: like his nails, that would come in time.

As Their efforts concluded, They heard and felt Ico's long breath of relief. He rubbed at his side, then reached gingerly up to the side of his head, for he still expected it to hurt. There was little surprise when he felt the tip of his right horn. He sat there with his fingers lightly touching it for a few seconds, then let his arm drop to look up at the wanderer and Yorda. The latter smiled at him; the former just nodded and gazed levelly at him.

Dormin saw how he looked over his shoulder at the shrine tablet, uncertain. A boy with horns would have little experience with the divine, and Ico was no exception. All the same, he rolled himself to a kneel and clasped his hands.

 _Thank You,_ he thought.

Even through the holes in the seal, most of the reason why Dormin could speak so directly to the wanderer was the way Their soul twined with his. Ico's horns, a small little spark even now they were healed, did not provide so easy a connection. All the same...

" _Thou art welcome. We are pleased to help as We can._ "

Ico stiffened, and his surface thoughts told Them that this was the first time a deity had spoken so directly to him. He had really very little experience with gods and stood after a few short moments, conflicted about the offer of comfort, seeking it out instead from holding Yorda's hand. The wanderer watched them, silent.

They all stood looking at one another for a long time on the cliff above the sea, the ruins of the Castle in the Mist behind them.


	15. Bridge

The first several weeks of the mortals' freedom passed in an awkward fashion.

The wanderer kept to his promise to care for the children, feeding them and translating between the two. But his long imprisonment had left deep, badly-scarred gouges on his soul. As a scar on the hand could stop a mortal from holding things, the scars on his soul soured his already atrophied ability to show them any emotion. At times he came across as more akin to an aloof sheepdog than a father in spite of his best efforts. Not helping the matter was Ico's beaten-in wariness from being raised as a sacrifice and from the violent legends he knew of his new caretaker.

Yorda mediated between them somewhat. She was easy about letting Dormin know her thoughts, taking to prayer more quickly than Ico and more formally than her father. They learned that she had indeed heard fearful things about him from her mother, but also that those stories were tempered by the Queen's continued love for him and her belief that he was in essence a good person who struggled with fits of violent madness. Yorda was ready to trust him. And Ico, of course, was the first friend her age she had known. After their harrowing escape from the Castle in the Mist, she would do anything for him and believed he would do the same for her.

Even so, it was a not a bridge she could build by herself, and more than once over those first weeks she asked for Dormin's help on this matter. There was little They could do besides advising the wanderer when to hold his temper or nudging him to check more closely on the children, but in this They persisted. Such was the reason They woke him a month and a half after the destruction of the Castle. He lifted his head with a groggy, half-formed question in his mind, which Dormin answered by directing his attention to Ico.

He slept on his back for the same reason the wanderer usually slept propped up against something: he was too used to his horns preventing any comfortable rest on his sides. Yorda typically slept with her back curled to his ribs, but she had moved in her sleep and left the two children slightly isolated from one another. Ico's expression flickered in the shade of the tree the little party had stopped to rest under. Dormin reinforced it. " _His dreams trouble him._ "

The wanderer was sympathetic. _You didn't wake him up, though?_

" _Thou never thanked Us for it, before the medicine._ "

He considered that and understood Their intended meaning over a less charitable interpretation. The children were not far from the trunk of the tree, and so he crawled the short distance to them, sitting back at a kneel as Ico woke with a jolt from the sound of his motions. The boy scrambled to a sit and stared up at the wanderer.

For his part, the wanderer held his gaze for a moment, glanced away, then shifted to sit on his backside, his legs loosely crossed. Keeping his voice low lest he wake his daughter, he said, "Nightmare?"

Ico looked away from him just long enough to behold Yorda still sleeping peacefully a short distance away. He nodded mutely, looking down. 

Silence passed between them.

"Do... you want to talk about it?"

Ico shook his head. "Mm-mm."

The wanderer regarded him for a few moments, then sighed. "All right. That's... it's okay. That's fine." He hoped his voice sounded as sincere as he felt; from Ico's expression, the boy at least did not outwardly question him. 

There was more silence. At length, the wanderer said, "I have nightmares, too."

Ico's gaze, drawn downward by the memory of the dream, jerked upward again. He said nothing, and the wanderer continued.

"They're... well, they aren't about anything that needs to concern you. But I..." He closed his eyes, opening them again after a few seconds. "...I take a medicine that stops them. Dormin said it wasn't safe for you children, though, or I'd offer it."

Ico lightly chewed the inside of his lip. With no small courage, he asked, "How come?"

The wanderer sighed again, scratching at a horn. "Because I'm older than you and Yorda, and... because I can't die. Even if I got the dose wrong and it did poison me..." He left the rest of his statement hanging in the air. Ico grasped it and shuffled, looking down to pluck idly at the grass.

Once more the two were quiet. Above them, the wind caught in the trees, rustling the leaves against each other, passing by to weave through the long grass around them. Somewhere further above, a flock of songbirds passed overhead on their own errands, calling in individually small tweets and chirps that together made both mortals look up to listen to din of their passing. Yorda did not stir, for as loud as it was, it signalled no danger to her.

"You know," Ico said, a few minutes after the birds had passed, "back... back in my village, I mean, everyone said I did bad stuff." The wanderer was listening, though Ico kept his focus on plucking the grass as he spoke. "Stuff like... I don't know, stuff like when there was a plague that killed a lot of the babies, or, or some wolves got into the cattle, that was all my fault."

Dormin felt anger stirring in the wanderer's heart and cautioned him without words. He drew a deep breath, let it out, and said, "It wasn't."

Ico glanced up at him, then swallowed and looked away, tearing at the grass. It was a few minutes before his small voice spoke again. "I didn't... I didn't think it was, not really, but."

"But...?"

Ico's shoulders hunched as Dormin heard his thought. _But sometimes I **wanted** to._

It had not been shared aloud, so Dormin kept it to Themself. The wanderer rubbed at his lower arm. "Never mind. It's all right." He cleared his throat, looking away.

Yet more silent minutes passed. 

"It really wasn't your fault, in any case."

Ico tilted his head slightly to look up at him with one eye, not sure if he believed him in his heart of hearts. The wanderer looked at him again, then said, "I can tell you how I know."

The two watched each other for a few seconds more. "...Okay."

The wanderer shifted position again, scooting backwards to lean once more against the tree. He lifted an arm to point. "Do you see the Shrine of Worship?"

Violent memories of Jindal's, then Rilu's last moments passed before his mind's eye and ear as Ico turned to look, but nothing came of it. Ico merely said, "Uh-huh."

The wanderer closed his eyes, willing the visions away as best he could. He opened them again and said, "Dormin... Dormin is still sealed inside it. But it's... weaker than it could be, this seal." He paused, considering how to explain something that he at times did not fully grasp himself. "Come, and I'll try to show you."

Ico turned, regarding him with some suspicion. At length, he crawled along the grass and sat next to the wanderer, who put one arm over his shoulder and extended both hands in front of them, his fingers interlaced. "Perhaps the two of us are Dormin. And this is... this is how the seal started out. Nothing gets out. See - try to put a finger through my hands."

Ico humoured him, cautiously poking his calloused fingers. The wanderer nodded in approval, then shifted his hands such that holes in the imagined seal opened between the tips of his fingers and the opposite hands. "But now... see?"

"Yeah." Ico tapped at one of the gaps, not quite trusting the wanderer enough to put his finger through, subconsciously fearing a cruel trap of some kind, even if he had no idea what it might be. "But then why don't They just come all the way out?"

The wanderer let his hands fall apart, one arm still around Ico. "Because... they can more or less only get a finger through. Or their, uh..." He frowned, struggling to find a metaphor. "...Have you ever, on a cold day, seen your own breath?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well... you're breathing out all the time, and it affects the wind even if you can't see it. If you were in a cell and you could stick your finger through a hole, you could blow air through it, too. Or you could just... breathe, and your breath would escape through it eventually."

Ico's confused expression betrayed that he had little idea what this had to do with his being blamed for calamities. The wanderer gathered his thoughts for another few moments, one of them reading to Dormin as, _It's been a long time since I tried to explain any of this out loud._

"Dormin's... breath, I guess, gets out of the holes in their seal. And godbreath has to go somewhere just like people's breath does. It... settles, and that's what made your horns grow. They don't control it. They could, if the seal wasn't there, but it's... they lose control of it once something's outside the seal. It's why I can't die, either."

Dormin watched the movement of Ico's thoughts flowing. "...So They didn't curse me?"

"No. They didn't really bless you, either. It just... happened, and now you have these." He gestured vaguely at one of his own horns.

"...Huh."

In spite of himself, the wanderer smiled a little. 

A more peaceful silence settled over them as they leaned against the tree together. Dormin watched as Their follower's thoughts wandered down disused corridors, some aspect of sitting with Ico bringing back happier memories of his own children. For once, they were not tainted by their violent ends. He became aware that he was humming quietly only when Ico asked, "What song is that?"

Shaking his head out of the trance, he looked down at him. "Oh, it's..." He sighed. "It's just something I used to sing, sometimes. I don't remember all of the words anymore."

"Oh." Ico shifted his weight a little, taking some strain off his back to grow more comfortable.

To Their follower alone, Dormin said, " _Ask if he wishes to hear it anew._ "

What he asked instead was, "Do you mind if I keep humming it?"

It was a better way to ask, Dormin thought, for Ico glanced up at him, then resettled with a reasonably relaxed "Uh-uh." Half listening to the ancient lullaby and half feeling it through the wanderer's chest, he relaxed further, falling asleep after several rounds. The wanderer was silent for some minutes after he noticed, in voice and more or less in thought, as he gazed down at the child in his arm, with his black hair and black horn nubs.

_I don't want to hurt them, Dormin. I don't want to hurt any more children._

" _Then thou need not_."

He clenched his teeth, biting back a sharp exhale. _Just because I don't want to doesn't mean I **won't.**_ He lifted his head to look at Yorda, still sleeping soundly by herself. _I still feel like something is going to happen. Something always happens, Dormin._

Dormin had no comforting answer for his fears. All They could offer was Their presence, close but not too much so, allowing him to think his own thoughts away from Their sight. The children did not stir but for their breathing as he looked out across the plain with no particular focus.

_...I know what I'm going to do._

" _Yes?_ "

There was a gentle light in his soul and on his face as he looked once more at Ico. _I'm going to start teaching them how to make bows tomorrow._


	16. Gift

The wanderer did teach the children how to make bows, as well as how to flint arrowheads and fletch arrows. He taught them how to track game to use the arrows on, and he taught them how to find fresh roots and fruit. He taught them cooking, and thread-making, and sewing. He and Yorda taught Ico their language while Ico taught them his, though as two years passed he spoke more of theirs than they did of his. It was two more years than Ico had ever expected to see at all, and two more than the wanderer had dared to hope to live free.

For Their part, Dormin continued to work on Their project under the Shrine of Worship, finding, eventually, that They were finished. They contemplated this fact for half an hour before turning Their attention outwards, sensing the three mortals crossing the central plains, then out further still. They could not sense much beyond Their Own lands, as usual, but Their thoughts turned to minds They had not felt in two eternities as They contemplated the darkness beyond Their senses.

One more time, Dormin turned Their attention to the project under the Shrine. Yes, truly it was finished. They reached out and spoke. " _Wanderer._ "

He stopped, the half-grown children stopping behind him to follow his gaze toward the Shrine. Neither found his actions unusual, even though they could not hear Dormin's voices. _What?_

Dormin found Themself on the edge of hesitating, but answered before the wanderer noticed. " _Come to the Shrine of Worship. We have something to show thee._ "

He tilted his head, which drew a soft questioning sound from Yorda. He answered with, "Dormin says they want to show us something."

" _We have something to show **thee.**_ "

He corrected himself. "Dormin wants to show _me_ something, I guess." He beckoned and started walking again, Yorda and Ico following without any complaint. Dormin watched their approach, arranging the words They would use when the wanderer and his children arrived. At their walking pace, it took an hour, and this close to the locus of Their power, They could speak such that both Yorda and Ico could hear. 

" _Yorda. Ico. Explore to ye hearts' content, but allow Us to speak to the wanderer alone._ "

Even despite the words of a deity, both of them looked to the wanderer, who nodded to them. Yorda moved first, jogging past Ico and stopping to smile at him near the Shrine itself; he shook his head fondly and followed, raising his hand in goodbye at the wanderer.

Without further words, Dormin directed Their old follower around the side of the Shrine. He, too, delayed in responding to Their directions, watching as Ico and Yorda chased each other like children half their age, waiting until they were out of his sight around the corner of the Shrine before moving. When he reached a certain place along the outer wall of the Shrine, Dormin opened the way to the oldest offering chamber, making him startle two rapid paces back.

"That's a _door?!_ "

They could not help a chuckle. " _There are mysteries of Our land even thou knowest not, wanderer._ "

He snorted.

Slow were his movements as he approached the door, and for a long time on the scale of a conversation did he look down the corridor. But trust won out, and he stepped up past the doorway to descend down. The way to the chamber did not go down as far as the Shrine spiralled up into the sky, but still it took some minutes for Dormin's follower to come into sight of the old artefact. There he stopped and stared.

" _This meteor came from the sky long before thou wert conceived. It came from the sky long before the Ancient Sword, long before the Colossi, long before the Castle in the Mist, long before thy kin existed._ "

The wanderer swallowed. "Did... You come on it?"

Dormin laughed at his unusual deference, meaning no malice with it. " _We are of this land and the mortals who first came to it, old wanderer. It is older still than Us. The very Shrine of Worship was built around it, and here those earliest followers of Ours sang Our praises._ "

Their newest follower stepped cautiously forward, gazing up at the meteorite, and the weapon hovering by Their power within. He, even _he_ , was awed. He knelt down before it with slow, smooth motion and bowed his head, clasping his hands. _...You've made something out of it, I see. That **was** You?_

" _Yes._ " They paused to gather Their thoughts. Long had They thought of this moment, before and after the fall of the Castle in the Mist, and yet... it had come, and They still felt its weight on Their voices. " _It is young. We began its carving as thee began thine, and as We began cultivating the medicine of the garden fruit. Look and behold its power._ " Their follower obeyed, gazing up at the sword. " _Take it and feel its power._ " Dormin carefully released Their last holds on the weapon, allowing Their follower to rise and grip it. His worn soul with its gaps filled in with Dormin's own awakened the blade, and Dormin watched as he watched the magic writhing with divine wind around Their creation, even though the air was still and stale in the old offering chamber. They showed him an inkling of the colours They saw within it where he saw only shadow.

"Sometimes I forget You're a god," he said, staring at the weapon in his hand.

Dormin laughed softly. " _Sometimes We forget thou art mortal._ "

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back. "Well. More or less," he said, lowering his arm to let the sword hang loosely downward as he looked up at the meteorite which had birthed it. "Thank You." He glanced down at the sword, back up. "Is there anything I should know about it? Will it do..." He ran a hand harmlessly through its magic. " _That_ , anytime someone holds it?"

" _Most other mortals could take it up, and perhaps it would darken if Ico held it, but thy shining horns and the connection between us they represent awakeneth it._ "

He nodded.

" _We ask thou to take care in wielding it. The power it hath when awakened draws from thine own soul and vitality._ "

"Ah, good," he said. Dormin gave him another quiet laugh.

" _Perhaps create a sheath for it, after the fashion of thy bow-holster. The sword itself took enough effort for us._ "

He nodded again. "But..." _But why? You know I'm not especially good with swords. There isn't anything in Your lands I'd need one to deal with, either. Not anymore._

" _We carved it to grant thee another chance against the Queen._ "

His head jerked up, looking past the meteorite at the ceiling. "What?"

" _Thou could not have used it to harm her. But she alone could not have taken it up._ "

Dormin left Their statement there for the wanderer to contemplate. He swallowed again as he looked at the sword. Briefly, he could see himself on his back, looking up on two occasions as swords were about to strike him, once without magic and once teeming with it. _...I wouldn't have died, either._

" _No. And We would not have been able to help after she was gone. So thou understandest why this was an option of last resort, even beyond thine own efforts in days past._ "

The wanderer nodded in mute horror and understanding, frowning after a few moments. He looked up at the ceiling again. _But why **now** , then?_

" _We completed work on it mere hours ago. But there is more_." Dormin could feel the weight behind Their words steadily rising, like a reservoir bolstered by a heavy storm pushing against a dam. " _Thou said there is nothing in these lands to defend thyself and thy family against with a sword anymore, and thou speakest the truth. But soon there may be._ "

His frown deepened, his weight shifting back the tiniest amount. "I thought You weren't good at precognition."

" _We are not. But We can see how the winds change, wanderer. Thou wert not alone in living in fear of the Queen._ "

His weight shifted further back.

" _This fear protected thee: the Queen also spoke the truth when she said thou wert safer here than anywhere else in the world. When it is discovered that she and the Castle in the Mist are no more, there may be consequences that come even to these 'Forbidden Lands'._ "

His jaw clenched. _Holy warriors._

" _Perhaps. And perhaps there is little enough they can do to Us, but what of thyself and thy children?_ " 

A shiver ran up Their follower's spine. Dormin allowed him some time to contemplate these horrors, not seeking his thoughts too deeply. Then, allowing the dam to break, They said, " _Ye should go._ "

He exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on the sword; it responded with a puff of magic. "And go _where_ , Dormin? M- we _tried that_ , and -" He extended his free hand behind himself in a sharp gesture. "And look where it left us!" 

Dormin's voices were level and calm as They answered. " _It was a mistake to live under the shadows of Our rivals, where their grudges made their followers seek ye out. Therefore ye must go past them. Past them and into lands where We are unknown. Thou tried thus with Tuin, and thy efforts only failed because of the Queen's voice._ "

They felt his heart clench as he looked away, over his shoulder towards the hallway that led outside. The idea of flight was fearful, but more fearful still was the idea of holy warriors with their hands and ill intent upon Yorda and especially Ico, with his horns. The fear for himself barely entered his consideration. Even so, the sudden call to make a decision had made him balk. "I'll... think about-"

" _No, wanderer._ " He snapped his head around to look again at the ceiling, transfixed by the stern tone of Dormin's voices. " _Ye should go and ye **must** go. The winds change and what protecteth Us from the machinations of Our enemies will stop Us from aiding ye against them. The seal will hold longer still. Find somewhere safe for thyself and thy family, and then may thou return._"

The wanderer stood looking at the ceiling for some minutes, his mind a conflicted storm of thoughts, emotions, fears. He drew a deep breath, turned, and walked his way up the hall and out of the chamber.

Dormin closed the door behind him and let him alone to think. They watched, silent, as he tracked down Yorda and Ico, who by then were sitting against the Shrine and each other. Both, especially Ico, stared at the sword as he came into their sight.

Yorda spoke first, asking, "That is what Dormin wanted to give you?"

He nodded, looking from her to the weapon. After a moment to consider how to explain and another to come to the conclusion he did not have it within him to do so at that exact time, he beckoned with a hooking motion of his horns. "Let's make camp."


	17. Preparations

Dormin let Their follower have space to think, though They were nearly certain of the decision he would ultimately come to once his heart was ready. They allowed him to think as he worked leather from a deer into a simple sheath, which Yorda remarked was much like the bow-holsters and arrow quivers they all carried; his serious smile was praise enough for her. They allowed him to think as, evidently on a whim, the next thing he began teaching her and Ico was how to wind ropes. They allowed him to think as he began building up a larger stock of supplies for all three to carry, never commenting on it.

They allowed him to think as he poked at his breakfast with little appetite while the half-grown children ate. Something ticked over within him, a lever finally shifting, and he said, "Yorda, Ico. There's something we need to talk about."

The two of them looked up from their meals, Yorda curious, Ico slightly apprehensive.

"When they gave me the sword, Dormin said we should leave their lands." He drew and released a deep breath. "And... they're right."

Yorda and Ico looked at one another. Looking to the wanderer, Ico asked, "But why?" 

Dormin could feel his surface thoughts. The valley was free of the tormentors he had known in the village of his birth. It was well-stocked with food and amusements, and if at times he was still unsure what to make of his and Yorda's serious, frequently aloof caretaker, the wanderer was at his worst stern and uncommunicative. He never struck them and rarely raised his voice.

Indeed, he did not raise his voice in response, in fact said nothing in response for a little as he looked at his food, chasing it around his wooden plate. Dormin recognised the feeling of not knowing how to explain even though he had been thinking about it for some time. "Because... because as good as it is here, it's... it's not safe. Long-term, I mean." He looked up at them. "It's not safe outside it, either, but Dormin thinks - and I agree - that sooner or later, we're... people are going to come here looking for trouble, with the Queen dead."

Ico hunched his shoulders; Yorda scooted up against him. 

The wanderer continued, "If we travel for long enough, we might..." He shook his head, leaning forward. "We _will_ be able to escape the lands where Dormin is thought cursed." He gestured at Ico. "We can find somewhere even you and I aren't seen as anything more than odd." He glanced at the ground, then leaned back again. "We can find other people. Settle down." _You two can raise a family, or families, together or apart as you might wish._

Yorda and Ico shared another look. Slowly looking back at the wanderer, Ico said, "You're... sure?"

 _As sure as I can be_ , the wanderer thought. What he said out loud was, "Yes." He turned his gaze to the southwest. "We can climb the cliffs near the cape where you two washed up to escape. It will take a few days to walk there; in the meantime, all three of us will be working on the ropes."

"Why is that?" Yorda asked.

He looked at her and dipped his head slightly. "We're going to be tied together as we climb. That way, if anyone slips, the other two can keep him or her from falling all the way."

The two of them leaned more firmly against each other, but first Yorda, then Ico nodded. The wanderer gazed at them for some moments, then looked away.

"There is... one other thing I need to do before we leave. But it's on the way." Having released the weight of his words, he turned again to his breakfast. The two children, knowing this marked an end to the conversation, returned also to theirs.

* * *

So it was that, fourscore hours later, they arrived at the western cape. The wanderer left the children by the shrine, instructing them to spend the remainder of their waking hours resting and winding rope, while he made his way to the graveyard. He walked with slow, careful steps among the markers for the better part of an hour, winding his way to where he had last left his chisel and blank markers. There he stood, gazing at the tools, breathing steadily, for another quarter of an hour.

Dormin watched as he sat, taking chisel and hammer in hand. With ease borne from long practice and difficulty borne from long pain, he carved two syllables. He swallowed once it was done, his thoughts churning as he stared at the name carved into the stone. At length, he rose, holding the marker in one hand and using the other to help him whistle. He began walking towards the tree even as Yorda and Ico emerged and jogged down the hill towards him, both of them stopping at the edge of the markers.

"What's wrong?" Ico asked.

"Come over here," the wanderer answered in a low, soft voice. He waited for the two of them to work their careful way to the tree; as they arrived, he knelt and placed the marker near its trunk. Only the stones bearing the names of Jindal and Rilu were closer to it. Yorda joined him, Ico kneeling as well on her other side. As neither could read what it or any of the other markers said, neither spoke, looking to the wanderer for direction. He closed his eyes, and it was some minutes before he spoke.

"All of these represent the children who died either in the Castle in the Mist or because of it." Opening his eyes again, he continued. "All except this one."

Ico shifted with discomfort, glancing at the grave markers all around him. Yorda's attention was still on her father. He was again silent for a long time as a conversation is measured.

"In a way," he sighed, "she died a long time ago. But she was only brought to peace two years ago."

"Mother?" said Yorda. The wanderer closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head.

Ico looked from her to him and back again. He shifted his weight once more. Eventually, he ventured to Yorda, "D'you miss her?"

Yorda thought about the question for only a short time. "I do." Boy and man both startled, looking at her. "I know... that she was wrong, and I knew for a long time I was meant to give her my life. But when she wasn't talking about that, and she wasn't angry, it was good. We played and she told me stories."

Her father's jaw and heart clenched, and he turned his head away again, once more closing his eyes. "...I was bound. Anything she said, I had to obey. I'd... I'd have come to help you sooner, otherwise."

She said nothing, instead reaching out to touch his shoulder. He flinched away from her, paused, then leaned lightly into the touch, sighing long and low as his eyes opened.

"What does the stone say?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"It's her name. Or it was. That name died not all that long after mine did." He lifted his head and gazed at the stone for a minute. "...But we can remember it. It was Mono." 

"Mono," Yorda repeated, testing the unfamiliar name out. Beside her, Ico bowed his head to the stone.

The wanderer swallowed hard, looking down. "I loved her. I still loved who she had been. Before she was the Queen, Mono was one of the... one of the kindest, most gentle people I've ever known. She was my closest friend, and I would have done anything - _anything_ \- for her."

Yorda glanced at Ico, intending to meet his eyes but finding he was looking down. She looked back to her father. "...How did she come to be the Queen?"

The wanderer drew a breath in a hiss, one hand coming to his chest in an unconscious motion. After a few seconds, he nodded, shakily. _You deserve to know._

"About... oh, I don't know. Five hundred and twenty, five hundred and thirty years ago... we pledged to marry each other, but the god of our homeland said she had a cursed fate and had her... sacrificed."

Ico flinched. Yorda held still.

"I brought her to Dormin and helped free them in exchange for bringing her back from the dead, but our old god had sent holy warriors, including a lord, after us, and... that's how I got these, more or less." He lightly touched one of his horns. "But Dormin was able to bring her back in the short time they were free, and... well, the lord thought both of us were dead and our old god couldn't see us, so it should have been all right."

He rubbed at his collarbone. "We left to start a family outside of Dormin's land, in a direction away from where our old god had been. But... none of the gods near here like Dormin; their magic is what sealed them the first time. One of them sent her holy warriors after us." He glanced at his audience, who were listening with solemn expressions, and continued. "They dragged the two of us to the Castle in the Mist and... they tried to sacrifice me, to purge Dormin's soul from the child Mono was carrying at the time."

He shook his head in slow anguish. "It didn't work, of course. You can't sacrifice someone who doesn't stay dead. It... I don't know all the details of what happened. Dormin's tried to explain but it's like trying to explain colour to a bat. But something about the magic in it was corrupted, and it made Mono the Queen of the Castle in the Mist and bound me to her." He sniffed, rubbing his eyes. 

The children said nothing for a long time, and in front of them, he did not weep.

In a small voice, Ico eventually said, "That's not quite what I heard. I mean - I believe you, I'm sure they were lying, but - you know."

The wanderer sighed once again. "I'm not surprised." He took a few slow breaths. "...What _did_ you hear?"

"Just the part about trying to bring her back to life. That when you let Dormin out, that's when it got all messed up."

"And that surprises me even less."

The three mortals fell silent again. Ico did not want to rise, for in spite of his discomfort at being among the graves of the other horned children, his friend and her father were mourning someone he did not know. Yorda did not want to rise, for she had never seen nor experienced a funeral and was following her father's lead. And finally, he did not want to rise, for the old, familiar, lonely depression had stolen into his heart again as he contemplated his long imprisonment, the repeated violations of his will, and the long ago, bittersweet memories of love and joy.

But as he started the funeral, it was the wanderer who ended it. He finally stood, Yorda following him up and Ico following her. His sight lingered on the last stone marker for another minute before he turned to them. "How are those ropes coming along?"

The change of subject caught Ico off guard, but Yorda said, "I think they're doing well. Will you come see?"

He nodded, following her lead as she picked her way through the grave markers and returned to the shrine. There, he sat and allowed Yorda to bring her handiwork and Ico's to him for inspection. There was still a little more winding to do, but knowing how fast each could work, the wanderer gave a satisfied nod and tossed each rope back to its owner, picking his own up to resume work.

"Get some rest once you're done," he said. "We'll leave tomorrow."


	18. Tomorrow

Dormin watched as the three mortals walked through the canyon to reach the southwestern cliffs. There, the wanderer fashioned harnesses for all three of them, tying Ico to himself and Yorda to Ico.

"I'm stronger than both of you," he explained, "and Ico's the stronger one between the two of you. Be very careful, and if something seems dangerous, _say something_. It's better we take this slowly than risk any of us slipping."

The two half-grown children nodded almost synchronously, understanding and accepting the danger. The wanderer looked at both, nodded to himself, and began his ascent. Ico gripped Yorda's hand for a few seconds before he followed, and she waited until her rope began to grow taut before taking her place at the back of the climbing line.

Dormin stayed with Their follower, helping him forge the path for the children, warning him of loose stone, alerting him to outcroppings they could rest upon, watching as he at times called for the children to hold still as he turned and pulled them up past particularly treacherous sections with his strength alone. The trio's ascent was much slower than any the wanderer had attempted in the past, which made it as safe as scaling a cliff so sheer could be.

The climb took the majority of their waking hours. At the top of the cliff, the wanderer kept himself upright long enough to haul Ico, then Yorda over the edge before joining them in sprawling over the ground, all three panting for breath. Curious birds circled overhead but did not approach. 

Ico recovered first, sitting up and trying to undo the knots of his harness. Observing his difficulty, the wanderer beckoned him over, though he was still flat on his back. From this position he drew his knife, his hand beginning the motion of flipping it around to offer Ico the handle before thinking better of it. He set it down instead near his hip.

"That... that took us _days_ to make," Ico said, in between breaths.

"It might... take you... days to undo... undo my knots."

Ico gave him a blank look for several moments before catching the hint of a worn-out smile. He smiled back and took the knife, cutting himself free of his harness, then the wanderer, then Yorda.

It took relatively little time for the three mortals to recover enough to sit near the edge of the cliff together, looking over the view of Dormin's land in companionable, quiet triumph. Dormin heard the wanderer's thoughts, which were offered freely to Them.

_We did it._

" _Ye did._ "

_I guess... this is goodbye, isn't it? At least, tomorrow will be._

" _In a sense. With thy horns, however..._ "

He shook his head, smiling a little. _True. With my horns, we're still stuck with each other, aren't we._

Dormin let him feel a soft laugh.

 _Actually_ , he thought, his expression growing neutral again, _there was one... last thing. There isn't any medicine for my dreams outside, is there._

" _We do not know. But We could not guide thee to it if there is._ "

 _Right, that's what I meant._ He straightened his back; the children glanced at him but did not interrupt his thoughts, returning to their own after marking his movement. _You said... I don't know how long ago now. But you said, before, that you could... stop my nightmares yourself?_

" _We may be able to learn how to. Thou asked that We not, both times We offered._ "

 _I know. I remember._ He drummed his fingers lightly on his knee. _But... things have changed, haven't they? And I won't have the medicine after these doses I have with me right now run out._

" _Nor will thou be in Our lands. To reach thee when thou art asleep will be less certain._ " They paused. " _But though We are not a god of dreams, We will try if thou will it._ "

His posture relaxed. ... _Thank you, Dormin._

" _Thou art welcome. Rest now with thy children, and we can say our farewells when ye wake._ "

A faint, lighthearted sense of mischief entered into his heart. _For once, you give good advice._

So it came to pass that the three mortals rested for one more endless day at the top of the cliffs. It came to pass that the wanderer stood at the clifftop after he had eaten breakfast while the children finished packing their things, lowered his head and torso in a bow, and thought, _Goodbye, Dormin. We'll talk soon._

" _Fare thee well, wanderer, and farewell to thy children, too._ "

He turned, checking that the camp was broken, and led the children away. By the time six hours had passed, it seemed to Dormin as if they had vanished but for the dim glow of Ico's horns and the shine of the wanderer's.

They knew the three of them would find a way to safety. Even through the scars on his soul and how they at times soured his care, the old wanderer loved his daughter and he loved her friend as if he was his son or future son-in-law. And he had always been determined to protect those he loved.

As the shine of his horns diminished into the darkness that surrounded Their land, Dormin drew back from the cracks in the seal, from picking and pulling at them to find a way out of Their prison. Their power would still escape. They could help it no more than a mortal could help breathing. But a mortal running would breathe harder than one dormant.

Perhaps giving Their friend some time to catch his breath was worth holding Theirs for a little.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooly moly moly. It is done.
> 
>  _Enlightenments_ is based on ideas that go back to around 2010 or so, when I played _Shadow of the Colossus_ and _ICO_ for the first time, in that order. The current iteration that you have just read took around two years to write down and edit, but various parts of the story are lifted in whole or in spirit from various old crossover RPs between myself and my old friend Ardil the Traveller. Special thanks to Ardil for all that RPing with these characters and concepts. Sadly, this Wander has neither a GameShark nor a frontier psychiatrist, but I think he made out pretty well in the end, didn't he? Maybe one of these days he'll meet a prince.
> 
> Special thanks as well to the entire Team ICO/genDESIGN teams, of course, for their hard work creating such beautiful, haunting masterpieces. A very special thanks to Fumito Ueda for having such a fandom-friendly outlook on his creations. 
> 
> Yet more special thanks to Bluepoint Studios for their from-the-ground-up _Shadow of the Colossus_ remake for PlayStation 4. I've been trying to come up with a way to do a non-crossover story about these concepts for years, and something about the Enlightenments / Coins and the reward for collecting all of them finally made things click into place. Thank you to them for at long last giving _That Sad Team ICO Fic_ a backbone and a title.
> 
> Thank you to everyone else who has been encouraging me over the time it took to get this beast wrestled into a coherent story, including but very much not limited to Tagg, the Speakeasy, Vex, and Sarkos.
> 
> And thanks... to you, whoever's reading this right now! Yes, you! Thank you for reading this foray into my strange headcanons about the Team ICO series. Go have a bite of your favourite food or something; you've earned it. And please share your thoughts if you feel so inclined. I love comments and do my best to reply to everyone.
> 
> And if you'd like to see some bonus material related to the fic, like its playlist, cut scenes, and my own fanart, I've started a little collection of it [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993241/chapters/60514243).
> 
> ***
> 
> As some parting thoughts of my own, I don't usually talk about what's going on in my meatspace world too much in fic endnotes anymore. I definitely don't talk too much in general about analysing what my own stories are about. That said, it occurred to me while I was posting it that some of the things _Enlightenments_ is really _about_ include isolation, trauma, losing loved ones, and being trapped in a shitty situation by outside forces.
> 
> I obviously didn't set out to write this fic under its influence, and it isn't in any way directly reflecting current events, but is it any wonder that I finally rallied myself and finished the darn thing during the COVID-19 pandemic?
> 
> Any takeaways I might have from _Enlightenments_ as an author as 'dead' as the rest of them now that the story has been released into the wild mostly come from the perspective of an optimistic nihilist who's on Wander's side. The universe is vast and utterly indifferent to human existence, but that just means that we have to care for each other. Our connections to one another are all we have and they are _everything_ that we have. 
> 
> Maybe Wander did make some bad decisions in _Shadow of the Colossus_ , but they're exactly the same ones I'd have made in his place. I've always had a soft spot for Morally Ambiguous Ancient Mystic Thingies, too, and Dormin is probably my favourite of those I've encountered. (If we leave off the "morally ambiguous" bit, it's an even race between them and the Asterite from _Ecco the Dolphin_.) And I never liked Lord Emon. He came off to me as the type to, in another story, be the guy railing against _Pokémon_ for being Satanic.
> 
>  _Enlightenments_ is a way to get this complicated, distressing headcanon out of my head and into the heads of other Team ICO fans. If I have to put up with so many 'Dormin is unquestionably evil and so is Wander' and ' _ICO_ is about breaking the curse of the horns' takes, then the fandom should also have to put up with this 'they're not and most of the horrible things in _ICO_ 's backstory were caused by the kinds of outside forces that lead Mono's murder and from there _Shadow of the Colossus_ in the first place' take.
> 
> But, as they say... that's just one interpretation. It is my fond hope that, like the Team ICO games themselves, _Enlightenments_ leaves itself open to many.
> 
> Take care, everyone.


End file.
